


Refugee

by pendentivelover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendentivelover/pseuds/pendentivelover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiloh Priest grew up with voices in her head and knowledge of the supernatural. She views the angel Castiel as her guardian, and, through him, she knows the Winchester brothers. Shiloh has promised Castiel that she won't get involved with their journey, but that doesn't stop her from getting into her own heap of trouble. Features Ellen and Jo Harvelle and Bobby Singer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Backstory

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: There are mentions of Supernatural canon in this chapter.
> 
> Can also be found at shilohpriest.tumblr.com.
> 
>  **author's note**  
>  I've tried once before to post this but lacked the confidence to keep it up. In honor of a friend of mine, I'm trying it again. I'm not sure how often I'll update. I have twelve chapters complete and three or so left to write. This was originally supposed to be a five part series, but I'll be happy with just finishing this one, unless inspiration hits me suddenly. Thanks for reading.

_Only for you I don’t regret  
That I was Thursday’s child_

The nursery was cool and the window was open, the curtains blowing slightly out from the wall. It was crisp and bitter and a babe's tiny lungs filled the air with cries of pain. The cries had gone on, night after night since the day she was brought home from the hospital. Her parents heard her screaming, but had long run away from the sound; four other quiet children needed their attention as well. The infant was left in the care of a nanny, who complained angrily as she fed and changed and cared for the child, only for her paycheck. She'd never come across such a vocal child.

But this night with the breeze blowing in and the curtains swaying, the babe stopped screaming. She looked up , her eyes going pale, shined over like an early morning mist heavy with dew. A shining light was peeking at her from between the bars of her crib, and the memory of this first meeting would become a vague thought that she would cling to when living became too much; she would cling to it with every fiber with all the belief that her little, insignificant soul could manage.

"Hello, sweet child." The voice echoed in her mind, pulsating. The babe struggled, unnerved but curious. She wanted to stand, to walk, to grow. All at once. "Be still. You have no need to be afraid. I will not hurt you." A strand of light reached through the bars and gently caressed the babe's temple. "I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord."

The strange phenomena was gone with a flutter as the nanny came in, fearing the worst from the child gone quiet.

"Dear Lord, Shiloh, you about gave your nan a heart attack ceasing your ruckus like that. Are you sick?" She felt the babe's forehead, but there was no fever she could feel. Shiloh was calm and giggled instead of screamed. The nanny lifted her out of her crib and held her close. "I say, baby child, there be angels watching over me, sparin' my ears." Shiloh laughed.

-

She was alone in the solarium, as her mother called it. The walls were glass and the flowers and bushes were pretty. Leaves were strewn on the concrete floor and the white wicker furniture was stained with disuse. No one came in here anymore, except for Shiloh, who used it mainly as a sanctuary, even at three years of age.

Her mother had thought it strange that she didn't act like a normal three year old. Phillip, at that age, had been still throwing fits and wanting to jump off things, especially tall things. Bartholomew had put everything in his mouth and clung to her skirts night and day, day and night. Suzanna had been a daddy's girl and she'd sit in his lap and watch TV, but would be off in a flash when their nanny was in the kitchen baking. Thomas was quieter and liked building blocks and looking at pictures in books he couldn't read. But Shiloh wanted to be alone.

Today, she sat with a stuffed elephant and spread her crayons out in front of her drawing paper. Her room was filled with drawings of angels and wings and static and blue eyes. But she was going to draw none of those today. She picked up the black crayon and began.

An hour later, she ran into the dining room where her mother was sitting with her tea and held up the picture triumphantly. Her mother smiled, but only glanced at it.

"That's nice, dear." Shiloh frowned, but ran into the kitchen. The smell of apple pie hit her nostrils, and her Nan was humming at the oven while her siblings watched, practically salivating as Nan took the pie out of the oven and sat it next to the bowl of homemade ice cream. Nan sure knew how to spoil her kids. But what Shiloh liked most of all, besides Nan's butterscotch pie, was that Nan's room also had her drawings hung up, not everywhere, but it was enough. And she put them on the fridge, too.

"Well, there you are, Shiloh-baby. Thought you'd hide all day. Whatcha got there?" Nan never called her a freak; Nan was genuine, so Shiloh held up her picture for her to see. "Oh my, ain't that beautiful. Talent like that, you're gonna go places." Shiloh ignored the derision from Phillip about yeah, she'd go places, like the looney-bin. Nan liked her picture, and, yes, she was going to put it on the fridge.

"Big deal, it's a car. Can we have pie now?" Suzie whined out. Bart agreed, but Thomas smiled at her. Phillip paid no attention, all of his attention on the piece of pie that Nan sliced out and paired with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. They all knew better than to grab before she said so.

"It's not just any car." Shiloh said as she sat on the floor below her picture. They stared at her, even Nan. It wasn't often that Shiloh spoke, because the way Shiloh spoke wasn't how three-year-olds spoke. Her eyes were bright despite their dull color and she smiled. "It's a 1967 Chevy Impala. It rolled off an assembly line on April 24th in Janesville, Wisconsin. And it's the most important car in the world."

-

She couldn't help the tears as she clung to her rabbit. She wanted to be brave, but it only went as far as not screaming for her absent parents. They'd gone on a trip and left her alone with her siblings and her nanny. She'd had a nightmare, and all she wanted was to be held. Little Shiloh forced herself to climb out of her twin bed, and she padded her way to Phillip's room, her hand on the wall, clinging tightly to her rabbit and trying not to think about the dark around her.

Phillip lay sprawled out, his limbs too big for the bed. She'd heard him complaining about it at breakfast a few days ago, but when she'd tried to talk to him about it, he'd told her not to worry about it, and, then, he'd called her a freak. She reached out and touched his arm, but he didn't respond. She shook his arm, and received a squint as he opened his eyes.

"What d'ya want, Shi? I'm sleepin'. Go back to bed." He mumbled out before curling up on himself away from her. But she heard him mutter weirdo before he fell asleep again, and she knew he was dreaming about fast cars and that cheerleader he talked about a lot, though no one seemed to mind.

She thought about going to see if she could wake Bart, but no one wanted their sleep disturbed, even if it was because their little sister had nightmares. So, she went back to her room on quick toes, trying to get away from the dark, her rabbit's let caught in her death grip. But as she went to jump in her bed, she saw a bright light in the corner of her room. Her eyes widened and she held her rabbit to her chest, not uttering a sound.

"Are... Are you a rugaru?" She finally managed to whisper. But this didn't feel like her nightmare had. She edged around the foot of her bed as the light shifted forward. It stung her retinas, and she started to cry again, only this wasn't a child crying with fear. Shiloh could feel grace rolling over her. "You're an angel!" She exclaimed. The light pulsed.

"How do you know what a rugaru is?" The voice echoed in her mind; it was stern, but not like her father's. Her rabbit had been dropped to her side.

"I dreamed it. It was a man trying to eat me." Her angel wasn't angry with her the way her father was when she talked about monsters. Instead, the light reached out and closed around her; she felt the armchair under her and curled up, her rabbit forgotten on the floor as her hand wrapped around a strain of light.

"The monsters can't reach you here. I've made certain of it." Shiloh thrilled with that, the thought that someone cared to protect her making her sigh contentedly. Her little body relaxed in the angel's embrace, and she had no more nightmares that night.

-

One moment, she was sitting on the bench in the garden reading an Encyclopedia Brown book, trying to concentrate over the voices in her head. But with the flip of a page, she was in a nursery. It was unfamiliar, but the crib was a clue. Shiloh was stuck to her place by the door, but she knew there was a baby there. It was crying. She could feel the fear rising up in her before the man ran into the room.

"Mary!" Shiloh looked up, seeing the woman on the ceiling clearly. She was sprawled out and her skin pale, even against the white nightgown she wore. There was blood seeping from her stomach. She wanted to scream that it was too late, to get his boy and go, but her effort was drowned out by roaring flames. She kicked and flailed as the flames licked at her prone body. She felt arms wrap around her, and she opened her eyes, finding herself back in her room.

"Easy. You're safe." Shiloh could have wept with relief.

"Castiel!" She clung to the figure in the light, letting it envelope her, her body shivering from the nightmare that had happened while she was awake.

"It wasn't a nightmare this time. I hope you know that." Castiel's words were measured and deliberate. Shiloh sniffled and nodded; it hadn't been a regular nightmare. It had felt real; the fear in her nightmares had never been as palpable as the woman burning on the ceiling or the man screaming for his wife. "You hear things that no one else does." Shiloh looked up into the center of the light.

"You mean, like, when Phil calls me a freak and he stares at me funny when I tell him I'm not."

"Just like that. He thought it. He didn't say it."

"So, I am a freak."

"No. You're special."

It wasn't the last time she saw lives as if they were happening around her, nor was it the last time that Castiel came to her as the bright light. She watched as a man's wife attacked him as her eyes turned black and he was forced to kill her, though it broke his heart to do so. A young girl made a deal with another young girl whose eyes were red, the deal consisting of freedom and success for the lives of her cruel parents. She watched and ran in a field as fireworks rained down as two brothers watched.

-

The yelling grew louder, and no matter which wing of the house she walked to, she could still hear it. It was searing into her ears as if they were in the same room. She could hear her nanny, too, trying to hush her older sister in her room on the second floor. Her two eldest brothers had long since disappeared into the grounds surrounding their home; they were stomping through the mud puddles in the field, laughing and unaware at the trouble they’d be in when they got back. Especially today. She was at the opposite end of the house in the solarium. Sitting in the corner, hunched between the wall and a white wicker chair, holding her black teddy bear as tight as she could, she could hear…everything.

"Shiloh, what are you doing in here?" She looked up, unsurprised at Thomas' presence, the brother born before her, standing meters away.

"They're fighting. Can't you hear?" Thomas just smiled and sat down in front of her. He stared at his sister, knowing she was different and not caring, because she was his sister.

"I stopped hearing them when I closed up the hall door. But you shouldn't worry about them; you're only seven years old. You should come outside with me. We can go up and get Suzie and go catch up with Phil and Bart." Shiloh blinked slowly and shook her head, her round unseeing eyes glistening with held in tears.

"No. You go. Take Suzie." Thomas swallowed, feeling obligated to his blind little sister, but he went. He always gave her what she wanted.

Shiloh listened to him go. And when she heard the door click shut, she let the tears fall. She was only seven; she was tenderhearted. But more than anything, she just wished she could see. She wanted to know what color her eyes would've been or what her family looked like. But she can only remember a bright, shining light.

Her breath left her as she sobbed. She choked out gasps of air and her tiny seven-year-old frame shook from the intensity of her grief. Only one word came to her and she said it over and over again, a plea offered up as a prayer, a small, broken prayer. She held her teddy tighter and the sobs became less and she could breathe. Her eyes stung and were red and puffy, though she'd never be able to see it.

"Shiloh." She looked up, startled, then paralyzed. There was a shining light encasing a dark figure, but she smiled shyly, eyes wide, standing and rubbing the sadness away, her teddy bear forgotten. The voice was in her head, pulsating like it always had, but she'd also heard it with her ears.

Castiel stared at the child, who was unwaveringly walking towards the vessel he inhabited, a vessel that felt uncomfortable, temporary as it was. She was small, her limbs bony and frail. This was the meager pup, the runt of the litter. Castiel frowned. This child should want for nothing; her parents were wealthy in a way that any human on food stamps or with a menial job would envy. This was not how he imagined her to look when he heeded her tiny prayer. She stood in front of him now, and the brows of Castiel's vessel furrowed. Her eyes were even more unexpected to his vessel's eyes.

"How long have you been blind?" Castiel asked, though he was sure of the answer.

"Since the first time I saw you." The words didn't sit comfortably in her mouth, nor on his vessel's skin, as human as it was; Castiel had not meant to blind the child. "I can see shapes and blurs and some dull colors," Shiloh continued. "But mostly, I just hear." She reached out and took his vessel's hand, and she patted his hand with her tiny one.

"Shiloh! Honey, where are you?" Castiel believed he saw fear in those seven-year-old eyes. She turned to him, her eyes wide and the grip on the vessel's hand increased.

"Let's get ice cream, please!" Strangely, Castiel didn't hesitate to fulfill her request.

They were in a park, Shiloh sitting next to him, a chocolate ice cream cone with sprinkles in her hand. Castiel watched as she blinked several times, then licked some sprinkles away before turning towards him.

"That was neat!" She said, her cheeks rosy.

"I am not untidy." The statement startled her, but she laughed giddily. Castiel just watched and waited, the laughter dying away, and Shiloh went back to eating her ice cream. They sat there together on the park bench, no one else around them; the park was empty and the sun was bright. Shiloh finished her cone and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. When she looked up, Castiel felt she looked much older than seven.

"Can I tell you something?" She asked. "'Cause I get the feeling you might believe me. Everyone else just thinks I'm a kid with too much imagination." Castiel nodded.

"I will listen and believe."

"You know about the hearing thing. I can hear everything. So, I know that Jeremy Price is in there with you, too. You stole his body, and he's scared. I wish I could tell him it's okay. But I don't know how or if I could." Castiel could sense she was afraid as well, but she just sat there holding Jeremy's hand again.

"I will give it back after I leave. I promise." Shiloh seemed to be okay with that, and she tugged until he stood and pulled him over to the swings where she coaxed him into pushing her high into the air, but never high enough to fly.

-

In her opinion, science and history were tied for the most boring bore she'd ever bored...beared? And she obviously wasn't that great at English grammar. Never mind the fact that most of her time was spent on trying to ignore the voices in her head. She'd made a promise to herself that she wouldn't use it to hurt others, though it was really tempting to tell Amber Michaels that her best friends, Latisha and Melanie, only hung out with her because her mommy and daddy were rich and would send them on trips and to amusement parks. But they were also friends of Suzie, though that obviously didn't include not hazing the little freak sister, the thirteen year old who had moved up to tenth grade.

Shiloh tried not to pay attention to the things directed at her when she walked down the hall or sat in class. Her classmates were all older than her and her teachers were too busy with the troublemakers to notice her. Suzie would graduate, then Thomas. Thomas was her only solace during the first two years of high school. He didn't care what anyone thought, and Shiloh would sit with him and his friends during lunch hour. She'd wait after school on the bleachers during soccer season, using the eyes of others to watch and clap for them, though she only cheered for Thomas. They'd drag her to the arcade on the mall and would take the time to describe the games, the lights, the adrenaline, even though she only needed their eyes to know. They could see the intrigue in her eyes when they would tell her about their other extracurricular activities, like karate, local concerts, and volunteer groups, and they would take her to those, too. Her life was a whirlwind of theirs, and their thoughts changed from calling her the freak little sister to their mascot. And her demeanor softened around them.

Jamie's sister had cancer, and he tried to be strong for his parents, who were devastated. Allen's father was an alcoholic who liked to hit him when he got angry; his mother had left a long time ago. And Les was an orphan who'd been raised by his aunt and uncle. Shiloh could still remember Thomas' eyes when she'd woke him in the middle of the night, cried out and exhausted. But she'd broke down again when he'd asked her what was wrong, and he'd held her and quietly cried with her as she told him. Both of them were a wreck the next day and had a hard time looking at each other or their friends.

Shiloh saw what she wanted to see. She realized it then. The relations she had with real people weren't strictly dependent on what she heard from their minds, but they weren't separate. She zeroed in on negative thought when she expected negative action, and it was the same with positivity. She'd tried to focus on all aspects of a person, the positive and negative, and she'd discovered that no one was inherently one or the other. Choices were made and cycles created; some were held responsible, some weren't. It crushed Shiloh, knowing as she did that human beings couldn't know each other as completely as she was capable. She saw and she heard and she felt. But most of all, she was falling under the weight.

Shiloh threw her textbook across the room and flung herself on her bed, closing her eyes. For once, she just wanted to have silence instead of the constant buzz of humanity in the walls of her skull. The novelty had worn off after everyone had gotten over the it's-just-her-imagination stage. She was too old for such fantasies, her parents had said. Thomas had tried to encourage her to ignore them, but he was the only positive in a house full of negative. Their nan might have been there with Thomas to hold her standard, but she'd retired and gone home a couple years prior. She needed to be with her family now that Shiloh and her siblings were old enough.

"Hey, Castiel, I could use an ego boost right about now." She muttered under her breath, not believing the angel would show. It had been a couple years since the last time she'd seen him, but she prayed to him every chance she could, though most of it was rambling inside her head. Sometimes, she thought, when she did that, she could share the noise inside her head with him. But she didn't know. It was just comforting to think he might be listening.

"You don't have an ego." Shiloh bolted upright, staring wide-eyed as the mental image formed of a scrawny young man standing in front of her. He wore a sweater vest over a white shirt and khakis. The vessel's hair was long, but the mental image of rose-tinted glasses made her snort. But she was grateful to see him, even if he was in a vessel, and she flew at him, hugging the vessel with all her might. She let go just as quickly. Castiel just stood there, blank expression as usual, though a wave of fondness washed over her.

"I know you're busy with angel things. You don't need to be here." Shiloh rubbed the back of her neck.

"But I do." Shiloh blinked. "I need a favor." Shiloh's eyes widened.

"Anything."

"I need you to find a bloodline." Castiel was serious, and a tremor ran through Shiloh, who sat down heavily. "It will be difficult." Shiloh swallowed.

"Well. I guess it's a good thing it's a weekend." Shiloh stood and wrung her hands and rolled her shoulders. She wouldn't pretend that the angel didn't scare her. The more her gift evolved in her head, the more afraid she was of everything, especially the human soul. The human soul just made her fearfully awed.

"You're certain?" The question felt strange coming from the angel, as if he'd thought it up himself. She blinked, realizing he hadn't actually asked it out loud.

"I heard you." His vessel blinked. "I thought that wasn't possible." Castiel stood in front of her and laid a hand to the side of her head, his thumb on her forehead.

"Your power is evolving via adolescence." His hand rested there for a moment before he blinked and took a step back. "I can help amplify it for our purposes. It will focus your search."

"My parents are on a trip. Thomas is in town with friends for the weekend. What do we need?"

Moments later, they stood in the solarium. An area of the concrete floor was cleared, and Castiel moved fluidly, bending down to draw a circle on the floor and then sigils within. Shiloh watched him, following his movement as he then placed three candles around the circle. He placed a copper bowl into the circle and motioned to her. Shiloh stepped into the circle and sat down cross-legged. Castiel sat outside the circle in front of her

"I'll direct you." He said as he began laying out items in front of her in the circle. She blinked, seeing the ritual in his mind. He really was mechanical, though he had every potential not to be.

"That's okay. I know what to do." Shiloh quickly placed the items in the bowl in quick succession, and Castiel didn't have to correct her. When it came to blood, Shiloh hesitated, looking around. Castiel handed her a long knife, and she gritted her teeth as she slid the blade along the interior of her forearm and held it over the bowl. She retrieved the matchbox and took out a match. She lit it, looking at Castiel over the small flame.

"Who am I looking for?" The flame crawled towards her fingertips.

"The bloodline of Cain and Abel." She dropped the match into the bowl, holding the name of Cain firmly in the forefront of her mind.

The noise went calm. It was still there, but it was no longer erratic. It was dull, and she opened her eyes. She was in a void and, for a moment, she felt afraid. But she bit down and pushed her mind outward. She needed to connect and weave the strands together; there was a pulse and she followed its cresting waves. It felt like hours as she tried to mold the heartbeats, relying on sound and touch, taste and smell. Sight was useless to her, and she closed her eyes. She felt a tug and she leaped towards it, reaching, clinging, and she could feel herself flying.

Her feet jolted, and she opened her eyes, expecting nothing. But she saw. She saw a young man on the ground in front of her, his head bludgeoned in. She only saw the wound, and, looking at her hands, she found them covered in blood. Her eyes widened, and she was unprepared for the tug on her shoulder blades. Shiloh slammed her eyes shut, allowing the wave to crash over her, and it was the ocean, calm and steady. Then, all at once, it was raging. She opened her eyes and found everything moving and moving and moving. Her stomach flipped and her back burned and it felt like hours turned to days and years.

And then she was in the nursery not her own.

"Mary!" Shiloh screamed over the man's cry.

Shiloh jolted out of the spell and blood was on her tongue. She collapsed, the metallic liquid flowing out. Hands were on her shoulders, and she cried out, the pain still burning.

"Shiloh." Hands cradled her face, and she looked up into blue eyes and was startled by the clarity of which she saw them. She'd created mental pictures based on the thoughts she heard. This was different. This was sight. "Your eyesight will leave again, but it will return on its own."

"How?" She breathed out, the visage of his vessel already fading to the normal blur.

"I'm not sure. It's not me." Shiloh nodded and got her arms under her, rising up to a sitting position. Castiel stared at her, though his mind echoed with regret. He'd asked too much of her, he thought. Her back ached, and she reached back under her shirt, touching one of the spots where she'd felt the tug. There was blood on her fingertips when she brought her hand back.

"Here." Castiel reached out, and she shook her head.

"I'm good." She felt the regret again emanating from him, that she'd shed blood at his request. Shiloh sighed; she'd come up with something to tell Thomas later if he asked. "Winchester. John Winchester. He's the one you're looking for. He has three sons, but I only saw one."

"Thank you." Shiloh smiled and shook her head. It wouldn't be the last time he made such a request.

-

 

Shiloh stood against her door frame, staring at her childhood room in front of her. She could remember the room as it was when she was a child, with frills and stuffed animals lining the shelves and her angel figurine collection suffocating shelves, desk, dresser, bed stand, and her drawings drowning the wall space. All of it had been packed away slowly over the years. Her room was empty now, devoid of the personal touches that her family insisted she'd lost somewhere. Shiloh didn't have the heart to tell them that she believed the opposite, that she didn't have any to begin with.

Her parents were speaking in the sitting room on the first floor, their words lost in the hostility and distance of their thoughts. She'd be turning seventeen in a couple months, but she was all set to go to college before then. Shiloh thought, maybe, that graduating high school two years early would have been easy; she'd be okay with going to college if her parents had been proud. They were proud, but not of her; they were proud to be able to say their wayward, youngest daughter was graduating two years early and weren't they excellent parents to breed such a child.

Shiloh barely felt guilty for not trying in school; she should, because she was sure that what she'd done had been cheating, but she didn't know how to turn it off, or if she even could. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. The cacophony in her head gave her an endless migraine, and sleep was impossible. She laid down on her bed, her legs hanging over the end, and sighed.

The cacophony poured over her as she gave up fighting it. The whispering became shouts and screaming and conversations and more whispers. Their neighbor was yelling and beating his wife again. The wife took it because she believed that she deserved it. Suzie was in town with her tongue down the lifeguard's throat, and all she could think was what her parents would think if they found out and she smiled because they wouldn't; the lifeguard thought how he'd found the girl of his dreams and now his shitty life was okay with her in it. Shiloh choked down the rage. The band teacher was drinking again; his divorce had gone messily and now he didn't have his kids to come home to, to make him smile. It went on and on, like a hundred radio channels tuned in at the same time, her mind going further and further afield.

Then, a name popped out at her. She bolted upright, her eyes wide, the name on her lips.

But he was already standing there. A man, glasses askew and disheveled. His tweed jacket hung loosely from his shoulders, and his dark hair stuck out everywhere. But it was hard to mistake the clarity of his bright blue eyes. Shiloh rubbed her face and laughed. It was harsh and deep from disuse.

"You called me." He stood stiffly, the vessel probably just a temporary loan like every other time. Shiloh looked up at him and he blinked. "Your eyesight is much better than last time."

"You did say it would return in time. Or were you just saying it to make me feel better." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I do not say anything for your emotional benefit."

"No shit. It wasn't really a question." Shiloh stood and went to lean against the window frame. The lake was there, still and serene, a constant reminder of the tranquility she couldn't have. She tried to ignore the angel, whose thoughts usually were mechanical and routine. But she could feel a disquiet, small and unnoticeable to its host. She looked at him standing, unmoving, unblinking.

"I heard your name." Shiloh said, looking back at the lake. She heard him take a step toward her. "I don't know where or when." She turned and sat on the windowsill.

"What else did you hear? Anything could be significant." She glared up at him, but couldn't muster the will to hold it. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead, trying to recall what she'd heard around the angel's name. Shiloh wondered briefly why she jumped to fulfill every request Castiel had, but she pushed the answers away, unwilling to look too closely.

"A woman was trying to contact you, and you warned against it." She stared at the floor. "She got too close." As if calling up a nightmare, her mind raced and she was there in a circle of four around a table with candles. A summoning was occurring, and she screamed at the woman to stop, just stop before... But it was too late.

Opening her eyes, she found herself on the floor sitting against the wall, the vessel's hand on her shoulder. Shiloh could feel how ragged her breath was and how much she was shaking. She let out a shaky breath and laughter bubbled up with it.

"That hasn't happened in a while." She managed to say.

"You did it often as a child." Came the reply, and she looked up. Castiel's vessel was showing signs of emotion which she thought strange, yet not unwelcome. She went to stand and Castiel braced her, helping her to sit on the bed. "What happened?" But Shiloh waved him away; his hovering was weird.

"Four people around a table, a woman, three men. Candles, the whole ritual thing. I think either a summoning or a seance. I don't know how she got your name." She started picking at her nails, which were already scabbed over around the edges.

"Did I..." She met his gaze.

"You burned out her eyes, Castiel."

-

Shiloh had one week until she left for college, and, despite her misgivings, she couldn't wait to leave. Being alone among her family wasn't a joy ride, especially since Thomas left. Shiloh webbed her fingers together behind her head. Thomas had been the only one to treat her like a human being, and, when he'd called her weird, it hadn't been malicious. She liked to believe that he'd sounded fond, but she forced the idea out of her head for her own good. He'd gone off to a medical school in New York, and she knew he'd succeed. She knew in the way that she knew her parents laid all their pride in Phillip, their eldest child, doting on him. They put a monthly allowance in all their children's bank accounts, but Phillip, Phillip was set for life.

"You're leaving soon." Shiloh opened her eyes to find a skinny young man staring down at her. His gray pants and white button up looked as if they'd been slept in, and the short brown hair was matted on one side. The black shoes near her head were scuffed. Shiloh shielded her eyes and sat up, scanning the lake shore for anyone who could be watching. But she and the vessel were the only ones there. Even her house was empty. She shifted the towel and wrapped it around her.

The dock was in the middle of the lake, and she'd swam out to it two hours ago. Her parents and Suzie were attending a party at the mayor's house since he'd won the re-election. He was a friend of her father's, and no one had protested when she decided not to go. Better to leave the freak at home. Shiloh watched her pale feet kick back and forth in the water, and she hardly noticed when Castiel sat next to her, his legs crossed under him. She looked at him.

"You have a type, I've noticed." He looked at her, confusion in his eyes. She frowned, but said nothing of the emotion coming from the angel. "Your vessels. You have a type." Shiloh shrugged, looking back into the water. She was confused, she could feel it amidst the noise in her head. Most days she couldn't tell where the voices in her head stopped and where she began. But she hadn't called Castiel this time. He'd come on his own. There was silence for a beat.

"When you leave this area, the Enochian sigils cloaking the area will disappear, and your presence will be sensed by every angel in Heaven." Shiloh blinked, taken aback.

"I take it that's not a good thing."

"No." The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, but she ignored it. This wasn't the time for that conversation, and she didn't know when would ever be a good time.

"So, I'm not even going to ask why..." But Shiloh watched as Castiel placed a palm on her sternum, and, for a moment, her breath left her from the pressure. Then, she was fine and he was sitting solidly beside her again. "Okay... what...?"

"Enochian protection sigils. Burned into your ribs." Shiloh blinked and stared at him.

"Well, if that isn't one hell of a going away gift, I don't know what is." She turned back to the water, and minutes passed without either of them speaking before she heard the flutter of wings.

-


	2. The Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiloh learns that she’s better off on the road and Castiel suggests something that Shiloh’s not quite sure about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of Supernatural canon, specifically 2x21, 2x22, and 3x05. Also, trigger warning for suicide.

_We all sing the same old song_  
_When you want it all to go away_  
_It’s shaping up to be a lonely day_

College was not what Shiloh had anticipated. It was louder, raunchier, and grueling. She'd been naive living on a plantation outside Emporia, Virginia, and deciding to go into law was probably not the smartest idea. The reading material alone should have sent her packing since she couldn't concentrate well enough to sit and read, so she pretended. She went to study groups and latched on to those who had read the material. It was the only way she was going to be able to pull this off.

Shiloh tried not to think of angels. She tried not to think about how Castiel's head was just as open to her as anything else. And when anything else came along, she tried to go in the opposite direction. Monsters were real, but no one would believe her. Just like no one had believed her as a child when she'd insisted angels were real. And that she had her very own. Shiloh had eventually stopped talking on a personal level altogether. She spoke when spoken to, answered when asked, gave the statements that she knew people wanted to hear. She'd learned how to pick her own battles just as she'd learned to recognize thoughts from memory, fears from dreams, past from present from future.

But she struggled with herself. Whatever this was, gift or curse, she didn't want to just sit on it. What was the point of knowing monsters were out there if she couldn't do anything about it? Not everyone had an angel on their shoulder burning sigils into their ribs. Even if those sigils were to protect against angels, which included Castiel. Which is why she hadn't seen him since that day on the dock.

By her second semester, she knew law was not her cup of tea. She expressed her concern to Thomas when he visited for a weekend, sleeping on her dorm floor on a mound of blankets.

"I never thought you were one to be a lawyer. Can you imagine yourself being a defense attorney? There'd be no way. You'd let all the guilty bastards fry." Shiloh smiled from her perch on the end of her bed. Thomas had finally taken to speech just as he had when they were children, though he'd always talked more than her. He’d slowed down with it during middle and high school with his interests in books rather than people, but now, he could talk all day if you let him, and Shiloh did, never interrupting. She only smiled because Thomas was the only one who kept in touch. Phil, Bart, and Suzie had gone off across the world. Thomas had taken a job closer to her, even if it was a few hours away. She would let him talk all he wanted.

"You're far away." Shiloh blinked.

"Sorry." She'd gotten caught up in Thomas' thoughts, something she tried not to do. It felt invasive. But it happened, and, despite the guilt she felt when it did, she smiled brighter. Thomas didn't think she was a freak. Strange, yes, but wasn't everyone a little strange? At most, he worried about her, but not to the extent that she'd be afraid he'd pack her off to the looney bin, which is what Phil would do. "You're worried about me." Shiloh said finally.

"Well, of course, I am. You're my baby sister. You may be a wacko, but I don't think you're wacked, y'know?" He shared her smile. "All I know is that you know things. I don't know how you know them, and I don't want to know. As long as you're safe, I'm good and worried. Anything more and I might have a heart attack." Thomas was dramatic and Shiloh liked it; it made her grin.

"What do you find yourself doing in your free time?" He asked when she brought him a soda. He popped the top and took a drink.

"I'm in the library usually."

"Mmhmm, doing what?"

"Reading?" She offered helplessly.

"No shit, wacko. What are you reading?" He tilted his head, and she lowered her gaze, shifting herself to sit on her hands. "I don't even have to guess, do I?" His tone was softer and she felt a hand on her knee. She looked up.

"Look, I know what our family says about you. And I say screw them. Your obsession with angels and belief in monsters is weird, okay. But how did you get your eyesight? I heard our parents; that was supposed to be permanent."

"Even though they're still foggy." Shiloh muttered, looking away. Thomas lifted her chin. She couldn’t tell him that her sight was somehow linked with her abilities; the more she used them, the more it failed her. The only exception had been when Castiel showed her the amplification spell the first time. And even then, it had faded quickly. 

"Who cares? You can see, and you hear things." Shiloh stared at him, startled by the blatant declaration. "Yeah, sis, I've known for a while. And trust me, I spent a great deal of obsession over mental illness and disease trying to figure it out. But none of that is you. I even described you, hypothetically, to a psychiatry professor at my school, and he couldn't give me an answer." Shiloh smiled, not having the heart to tell him that she knew all about it and how Dr. Barnes had tried to convince Thomas to reveal who he was talking about. She was a published case study waiting to be written. She just hadn’t expected him to bring it up.

Shiloh remembered the time he'd come home, shaken and terribly quiet. Their parents hadn't been home, but she knew what was wrong. He hadn't found an answer, not in his world. He'd sat on the wicker chair next to her as she was drawing. She held up her sketchbook as he sat like she always did, briefly showing him the man she was drawing. He was tall with bed head hair, dark and tufted out. He wore a suit, jacket unbuttoned and tie backwards, and he wore a tan trench coat.

"Who is he?" He'd asked.

"Jimmy Novak. He sells advertising time for AM Radio."

"How do you know that?" Shiloh had shrugged, but she set the drawing aside, primarily unsure of why she'd connected to him; the way she saw him was a future self, but she couldn't place why she felt like she knew him.

She and Thomas had sat in silence until their parents had come home. They'd never mentioned it, though he had began asking her questions whenever she brought up angels. She'd almost hoped he'd started to believe, but now she was glad that wasn't the case. She spent a lot of time trying not to think about the sigils on her ribcage.

"Just change your major to Philosophy and Religion Studies, and tell whoever your advisor is that you have an interest in angels and the occult. And screw what everyone thinks. Okay?"

"Okay."

-

The one complication she hadn't expected was other thoughts becoming her own. It also didn't help that Shiloh knew she shouldn't be alive. Her downward spiral caught her by surprise; she thought the change of major would help, but, later, she knew that had nothing to do with it. She couldn't sleep or eat, and Castiel hadn't shown up or answered her since before she'd gone to college, even when she prayed her exact location. She'd taken to walking at night and walking for miles before she realized and had to rush to get back for classes. She knew the dangers, but she took care to be on the hear-out for unsavory thoughts.

But she wasn't foolproof.

"Well, hello, sweetie pie. Aren't you pretty." Shiloh stopped dead in her tracks, heart racing. Her eyesight had all but cleared, but she was still vulnerable in the dark. The street she was on was vacant and dark, the shadows deeper. It had been raining, and she could feel the damp seeping through her clothes. Shiloh berated herself under her breath, angry that she'd been so engrossed in what was going on at a bar three miles over instead of focusing on what danger could lay around the corner. She muttered up a prayer to Castiel, but expected nothing. She stood straight.

"Okay. Come out. I know you're there." She scanned her surroundings, trying to ascertain any advantages she might have. It didn't matter if she didn't know what she was up against, but it helped her to concentrate. There was an alley just in front of her, and she peeked around the corner, noting a dumpster and a pile of broken skids beside it.

A whiff of blood invaded her nostrils, and her senses heightened inside her mind. Okay, not her senses. What are you, Shiloh thought, closing her eyes and pressing herself to the wall. She pushed her mind out and felt a tremendous hunger, a hunger never satiated. She opened her eyes and leaped into the alley, towards the broken skids. Footsteps echoed behind her.

Her hand closed around a broken piece of wood, and she whirled around. No one was there, but she felt no relief. Her heart was in her throat, and she leaned heavily against the dumpster, the wood in her hand forgotten. It wouldn't work anyway. The vampire was toying with her. Shiloh pushed herself away from the dumpster and walked further into the alley.

The vampire was following her; she felt her heartbeat in her chest and in her mind, and she could hear blood rushing and drips of water. Shiloh had to put her hand on the building and brace herself. She was losing herself in the mind of the creature hunting her. Her vision blurred, and she became dizzy, shaking her head. Chanting to herself, she made out a small construction area. She threw the piece of wood up onto the first platform of the scaffolding and climbed.

When she fell onto the platform, she knew he was there, waiting for her to turn. She lay there, catching her breath and trying to calm herself. Standing on her knees, she smiled as she found the piece of wood lying underneath her. She gripped it, feeling the impatience from the being perched behind her.

"You've killed before, dozens of times." She managed to say. The effect was what she'd hoped. He was confused and the impatience turned to caution. It bought her a moment. "Where's your pack?" She asked as she stood slowly, measuring her breaths. The pulse was still in her head, the rush of blood, but it was no longer overwhelming. Her eyes still had trouble focusing so she closed them. She needed to be quick; she could anticipate his movements, but she hoped her body didn't give any hints to him.

"Dead." Shiloh turned, her face blank, the piece of wood held loose in her hand. She could see their faces, his kin, and feel their blood as he'd held them, an only survivor amongst the dead. But worse, she could see their victims, not just his.

"You've traveled for over fifty years with your pack. Your first victim was your own fiancée." He was visibly shaken, and she kept going, the memories crashing into her mind. "She was pregnant with your child. The would-be-father killing them over and over again." Shiloh missed the flutter of wings as the vampire leaped at her, a scream of rage tearing through his throat. She thrust up as he crashed into her, and they tumbled over the edge.

Scrambling to her feet, she saw the vampire was still, the makeshift wooden stake embedded in his Adam's apple. She fell to her knees next to him and grasped the shaft. A growl came out as a gurgle, and he was trying to move. Shiloh pulled the shaft free and plunged it back down, repeatedly in his throat. It was difficult and her body ached, but, when she was done, she sat with a head detached from its body, and she was weeping. Shiloh threw the wood away from her and scrambled away, sobbing, blood on her hands and spatters on her face.

She knelt and grasped her own throat, making sure it was still intact. It burned at her touch; Shiloh had felt every blow she'd dealt the creature. She'd heard his pleas with her ears and in her mind, pleas for mercy. Then, at the end, it was gratitude. It was that last that reduced her to the human wreck she became at an angel's feet.

"You did well." She looked up, her sight unfocused, but her gift at full attention. He was stoic. She clenched her teeth and bore down on the guilt she felt. A soul was a soul; she'd felt it leave him.

"Fuck you, Castiel."

-

Shiloh was falling deeper into the rabbit hole. She was sure Thomas' psychiatry professor would tell her she was suffering from depression or dysthymia. What he wouldn't be able to tell her is how to keep the thoughts of the general populace out of her mind or, if that couldn't be the case, how to separate hers from the rest. A nineteen-year-old suffering alongside every neurotic student, every disillusioned professor, every flawed human. She couldn't escape the thoughts of suicide, the memories of past tragedy, or evaluations of current suffering. Shiloh was losing herself.

She took off her jeans in a daze, rolling them up in her arms and laying them on her bed. Her parents had moved her into her own apartment, and she was amused by her appreciation of the solitude they'd given her. She moved towards her bathroom, swallowing down the lump in her throat. If she'd cared to check her temperature, she would've found herself burning with a high fever, but all she knew was that she was sweating and having trouble breathing. She pulled her shirt off in front of the full length mirror and turned, gazing at the scars on her shoulderblades ‒ the physical representation of her devotion to Castiel, along with the dozens of scars on her forearms. She'd needed to know it was all real.

Her eyes traveled down her spine and landed on the red and purple bruise at the small of her back, disappearing beneath her boxers. One of the Winchester boys had been stabbed in the back two days before. It was one of those rare moments of mind immersion, the ordeal physically manifesting. She thought of them as she stared at the bruise and the scars. Now, they were the stuff of heroes. Of legend. Shiloh had grown fond of them in her own way, cherishing that moment in the field under the fireworks. It wasn't her memory to cherish, but she did so selfishly.

Turning the water on, she felt the temperature before letting it fill up the tub. Shiloh watched as the water rose, its lapping reminding her of every mind amplification she'd endured. Some hadn't even been at Castiel's request. Her interest in the occult and lore was overwhelming at times, turning to obsession. But she always returned to the amplification spell. It suited her gift more than anything she'd come across. She'd accused herself of being addicted to it.

She put her shirt back on before sitting in the water and turning off the stream. She leaned back, letting the water lap against her and around her. Closing her eyes, she let her mind calm, her concentration on blocking out the voices around. Pushing her mind outward, she found the Winchesters. The Winchesters were on the move with Bobby and Ellen. Dean had done the unthinkable, selling his own soul for the life of his brother. She forced thoughts of Thomas from her mind, wondering and knowing she probably make the same decision. 

The knife she used for her spell was laying on the edge of the tub, and she picked it up. Her back burned and she felt her shoulderblades prickle. Steam rose from the water and fogged up the blade as she slowly turned it, watching. She thought of Castiel, pushing her mind out to find him, but not offering up a prayer. One prayer would've stopped her. But being saved wasn't her purpose.

When she slit her wrists, she found herself in Hell.

She stood, shivering, staring at a man strapped to a rack. Her vision was perfect, the red glowing in the room almost hurting her eyes. The man saw her and his eyes widened. Shiloh saw herself reflected in his gaze, shining like the morning star. She could have wept to see him.

"John Winchester." She breathed out, rushing to him, her hands loosening the straps at his left wrist. When it was free, she moved to the right. He helped her to free his ankles, and his legs trembled as she wrapped an arm around him and bore what weight he had difficulty with. John Winchester was beaten and bloodied, a tortured soul of Hell.

"I believe you're taking something of mine." They looked up, and Shiloh placed herself in front of the elder Winchester, between him and the demon. "And I believe you, sweet child, belong to him." Shiloh turned and saw another at the entrance of a passageway. She swallowed the persistent lump in her throat, calling up the courage and the faith she had.

"Alistair." She nodded to the first. "And Belial." She inclined to the second. Her mind raced with images from the two demons, and, if she'd been a body, she might have been sick. Shiloh knew Alistair to be responsible for the torture of the souls in Hell, but she hadn't expected Belial. What lore she knew held him in high regard as heeding no master and independent of Hell's hierarchy.

"Well, you know us. But, surprisingly, we don't know you. How is that?" Shiloh held her tongue, but knew she needed to buy time. She kept her eyes on Belial, and Alistair saw it. "Oh, don't worry. He's gentle at first, I hear. He likes to take his time with the suicides I give him." She felt John stiffen behind her, overwhelmed by shock. Belial walked towards them.

"And I will take my time, to be sure. How does a soul so pure find its way here, if you don't mind my asking. Not that I will complain after I get you on my rack." John took a step back, but she held her ground, her hand finding one of John's wrists. She steered him with her, circling Belial cautiously.

"Wait five minutes, and I'll climb onto your rack myself." Her voice held a confidence she didn’t feel. His black eyes bore into her, but a ripple startled the demons. She looked up, her lips curling into a smile.

"What was...?" Alistair stumbled, staring at her with open hostility. Shiloh's grin made her glow even brighter.

"A Devil's Gate." The ripple became a quake, and the earth beneath their feet heaved, knocking her and John towards the passageway. She pushed him with all her might. "Go!"

They raced as fast as they could, John gripping her hand fiercely, their feet flying, and, as souls, they gained momentum. Soon, they found themselves in a whirlwind of black and gray smoke, and Shiloh prayed to anyone who would listen that John, at least, would make it in time. But he never let her go, and then they were standing in a cemetery.

Shiloh looked at John, seeing with his eyes.

"Azazel opened the gate. Now, he's going to kill Dean and use Sam as a soldier." He looked down at her, startled and grief stricken. She squeezed his hand and turned him towards Azazel, who was kneeling in front of his eldest boy, then she let go, her eyes and mind watching.

"I couldn't have done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family." Azazel pointed the gun, and Shiloh watched as John protected his son, giving Dean enough time to retrieve the Colt before being knocked back. She turned away, feeling that bittersweet, familiar tug on her shoulder blades.

When Shiloh opened her eyes, she choked on the air in her lungs. She found herself on the floor, blood and water pooling around her. Getting her arms under her, she expected to feel them give out, but, when she looked, she found that the cuts down the inside of her wrists had been closed into jagged scars. She collapsed back down, relief washing over her, calming the disorientation she felt. Shiloh could feel the discontent standing over her.

"That was quite a stunt. I should have let you bleed to death." Shiloh didn't hear the angel. The enormity of what she'd just pulled off rolled over her, and she began to laugh hysterically. But as she pushed herself to sit upright, the laughter died into sobbing; she doubled over and dry heaved as she remembered Belial's black eyes burning with want. Then, she was being pulled into an embrace, and she didn't even care that it was Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. She just wanted to be held the way he'd held her as a child whenever she'd had nightmares or mind immersions. It was the type of embrace that held no expectation; it was simply given.

When Shiloh pushed him away, he stood without argument; she found herself clean, all signs of what she'd done erased except for the angry scars on her forearms. She forced herself to her feet, and stumbled past the vessel and to the living room, where she sat on the couch and wrapped a throw around herself. Jumping, she took the glass of water presented to her.

"Thanks." She took a sip, cringing at how parched her mouth and throat were. Shiloh met Castiel's stare. "John Winchester was in Hell." She watched the information work its way into his mind, and she could see the domino effect beginning. She took another sip of water.

"He's not anymore. My initial intention was to take his place, but, yeah, that didn't happen. Obviously." She sat the glass on the coffee table and tried to get the shaking of her shoulders to stop.

"Why was that your intention?" Castiel's brows were furrowed.

"I honestly don't know. Seemed like a good idea. An even better idea when I thought we both could escape. Does the phrase 'when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell' mean anything to you? I picked it up from the demon Alistair." Recognition washed over her, and she nodded. "Right. The seals. Also, Azazel was tremendously excited that Sam Winchester was resurrected. Opening the Devil's Gate was just a piece of the puzzle, and I don't think it was just so Sam could lead a demon army. There's something bigger at play here."

"And Dean?"

"Will be making a one way trip to Hell." She held up a hand when Castiel bristled. "It'll be John Winchester all over again, yes. You have a year to convince your superiors of the danger. If that first seal is broken, we're looking at the Apocalypse."

-

"I don't understand, Shi. I'm sorry, but I don't." Thomas white-knuckled the wheel. Shiloh sat unobtrusively in the passenger seat, watching as the world went by. Thomas had been the only one surprised when she'd announced she was dropping out of college. Her parents and older siblings had been expecting it, so it hadn't bothered her when she'd told her father over the phone. He'd been disapproving, but distant, even when he told her that she'd still get the allowance in her bank account. Shiloh made a mental note to take cash out; making card transactions would be sloppy if she was to live from motel to motel.

"I can't explain it to you, Thomas. You wouldn't believe me." It also wouldn't make sense to him to tell him that he was safer if he didn't know. She could keep him safe by pretending she didn't exist; they were on their way back home to Emporia, where she would retrieve a few belongings and say goodbye.

"How can you even expect me to take that as an answer? I thought you wanted to prove everyone wrong? Everything anyone has ever said about you. They're wrong. But this isn't going to..."

"Thomas, stop, please." Shiloh was sharper than she'd intended, but he didn't keep talking. She kept her eyes focused out the window. "I'm not giving excuses to anyone. I don't give a shit about what everything has ever said or thought about me. If I'm honest, I know they're right. One hundred percent right." She looked over to find Thomas' face hard, his mouth a thin line. She sighed.

"Thomas. I want you safe. You know I hear things, and the things I hear are not safe things. Staying in one place is not smart for me. I need to do this." She hoped he could hear how genuine she felt. Conveying emotion was much more difficult than feeling it. She watched Thomas nod, though he still wasn't happy.

"Okay. You have my number. Call if you need anything. And I mean anything."

The goodbyes were brief. Thomas held on to her until she finally had to push him away with a confident smile. And when he dropped her off at a bus station, Shiloh left the drawing of Jimmy Novak on the passenger's seat.

-

Shiloh stood in the center of the motel room and threw her duffel bag on the bed. She ignored the angel by the door, who was staring at her with all the intensity he could force into his vessel's gaze. It was a little older than usual, but she could feel Castiel's discomfort. She unzipped her bag and began unpacking for the night.

"You can glare at me all you want. I'm not changing my mind."

"I wish you wouldn't do this." Shiloh stopped mid-action and paused before throwing the clothes aside and going to stand nose to nose with the angel. His eyes burned into hers.

"I will not sit around waiting to be a victim. You're not always here to protect me, Castiel. You can't be." She lowered her eyes, mind overwhelmed. The future was going to be hairy once it got there. She sat heavily on a chair by the door. "There's a war coming. I'm not sure when, and I feel insignificant."

"Not to me." His eyes were on her.

"I appreciate that. But it doesn't change anything." She rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her eyes. "I'll keep my promise. I'll stay off the radar as much as I can. I won't get involved, but the minute you start barking orders, I'm done. I'm not a soldier in your garrison." She stood and met his eyes.

"I understand." He lowered his gaze, and she felt a small amount of sorrow at speaking to him in this manner.

"I will relay what I can to you, but I have to be in a position to make verification. I'm not going to give you half-cocked information and hope we can interpret it correctly." His brow furrowed, but she ignored him. "Now, are you sure about this connection we're about to attempt? I'll have a permanent residence in your mind that I can go back and forth to."

"Yes, I'm sure. I just don't like the idea of you... on the road, as you say." Shiloh smiled, but shook her head, going to sit on the end of the bed.

"First things first. An update." Castiel stepped further into the room and stood in front of her. His vessel wore a Black Sabbath t-shirt and faded jeans. The bare feet had thrown her off at first, but the overall build of the human was within the vein that Castiel chose. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she let the wave of trepidation roll off her before she met his eyes. "There's a demon named Ruby seducing Sam, and, by seducing, I don't mean in the sexy way. Dean knows that Azazel meant for Sam to be a general of a demon army. And I've heard the name Lucifer whispered for quite some time now."

Castiel blanched at the name, and Shiloh could understand that. If what she'd been hearing turned out to be true, then the Apocalypse was exactly what they were hurtling towards. She watched as the vessel swallowed.

"What are the Winchesters doing presently?"

"They just finished a case in Maple Springs, New York. The vengeful spirit of a little girl was killing via bedtime stories." Shiloh's throat closed up as she watched Castiel staring at the floor. She couldn't characterize the overwhelming loss; all she could think was that Castiel was lost and tears stung her eyes. Heaven had made no move to avert the coming Apocalypse; they simply awaited orders that would never come. And Shiloh didn't dare mention the corruption she knew to be there.

"Are you ready?" Castiel's eyes burned brighter than she'd ever recalled, and she nodded, standing. "This will allow you to know my whereabouts at all times, and you'll hear what information I obtain. With experience, you'll be able to relay anything you wish to me via this connection. If you need me, you simply have to tug at it, and I will find you." Shiloh ignored the wedge of doubt that worked its way into her ribcage. But she bit it down; as she'd proven time and again, she would do anything for the Angel of Thursday.

-


	3. The Stratagem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiloh converses with a demon and comes up with a reckless plan to save Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Supernatural canon: 3x07, 3x10, and 3x16.

_If I ever lose my faith in you_   
_There’d be nothing left for me to do_

Months went by, and the walking, hitchhiking, and motel rooms left Shiloh physically drained as she got used to it. But she kept moving, staying in one place for no longer than a handful of days, hopping hotels as often as she could. She was hidden from the angels, and she kept a hex bag around her neck at all times. Remembering when she was attacked by her first vampire, she kept her mind open and cautious. Shortly after taking to the road, Shiloh had taken a large sum of money from her bank account and obtained two .45 caliber Colt pistols and a 12 gauge Lupara. These were added to her duffel bag along with the fixed blade stiletto and copper bowl that Castiel had given to her at age thirteen.

Shiloh caught up with the Winchesters in Albany, New York. She detoured to Schenectady and camped out in several motels for the duration of the vampire case they were overseeing, but she did not interfere. Shiloh was beginning to believe that Gordon Walker wasn't far from the truth in believing the younger Winchester to be the Antichrist, though his understanding of the term was far off the mark.

"Antichrist..." Shiloh muttered to herself while sitting in a motel room in West Chester, PA. She knew that the reference in the Bible deemed the Antichrist as the spawn of Lucifer, but, in a conference call with Castiel, he'd corrected the idea. Shiloh was certain that Sam Winchester wasn't demon spawn, the lineage of both John and Mary Winchester proving it. Her thoughts circled back to the nursery, John screaming for his wife and baby Sam screaming in the background; Sam was an infant at the time, and, now, the only one who could have provided the answer was dead. Azazel had been the key; Shiloh was sure the demon blood played a main role.

She stayed along the East coast as the boys headed to Michigan, spending most of her time in libraries researching the Apocalypse from occult to Biblical lore. Frustratingly, Shiloh didn't learn anything she didn't already know, and she had the distinct feeling that she'd missed one hell of a clue somewhere. Occasionally, she’d come across a case, and she’d give what information she could to other hunters. But when she wasn't in libraries, she was at gun ranges, paying off the supervisor in lieu of not having a gun permit.

The demon Ruby worried her, but Shiloh knew she wouldn't get anything with a brief touch of the mind. Whatever her motives, Shiloh would need a devil's trap and maybe a mind amplification spell, and the angel on her shoulder would never go for it. Castiel had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't to be involved; she could pick up his concern at the possibility of her being used as a weapon, and she agreed she didn't like the idea. So, Shiloh relayed what she could, making sure to label each thought with a disclaimer from factual relevance to personal speculation.

Shiloh turned her thoughts to another matter with another month passing. Mainly, how to get Dean out of Hell once he was there. The opening of the Devil's Gate in Wyoming had been a once in a lifetime opportunity, one that had put her in Castiel's disfavor for a short period. But she couldn't hope to be that lucky a second time, if ever.

She found herself on a back road in West Virginia when the mind immersion came out of nowhere, her body going limp and collapsing into a ditch. When Shiloh opened her eyes, she stood stiffly, staring at the two Dean Winchesters circling each other. The self-hatred and animosity swarmed her in a haze of disjointed memories, all of Dean's childhood.

"I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?" Shiloh flinched, the scene continuing to unfold. She was familiar with his past, with the discipline of his father, the brief remembrances of his mother, and always the self-sacrifice for his brother.

"I don't deserve to go to Hell!"

"You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this, this is what you're gonna become!" The demon's eyes stared out with wanton hunger, and Shiloh woke up in the dirt.

-

Two weeks later, Shiloh set herself up at a Comfort Suites hotel in Morristown, Tennessee, and paid for five days and nights undisturbed. Upon arriving, she went through her routine of demon proofing the small suite, salting each entrance and placing hex bags in each room. She spent the first day lying prone in bed, her mind riding co-pilot with an angel. Shiloh was still unsure if Castiel was ever aware of her presence in his celestial mind, though she would prefer if he didn't.

Upon waking on the second day, Shiloh prepped, placing seven candles on the granite counter top in the kitchenette and chalking out the symbols for a summoning. Afterwards, she laid out wormwood, sandalwood, and a small branch of commiphora myrrha followed by her copper bowl and matchbox. Knife in hand, she walked around the island, making a slit across her forearm. The knife accompanied the items on the counter top, and then she bent down, painting a devil's trap on the wooden floor with her blood. The trap was more for comfort than anything; Shiloh didn't try to hide it.

Shiloh took a deep breath and added the ingredients to the bowl, then squeezed out more of her blood before taking up a match and lighting it.

"Et ad congregandum. Eos coram me." She dropped the match in, the smoke curling up. Leaning against the counter, she closed her eyes, waiting. A moment passed, then incoherent screaming filled her mind. She pushed it away, refusing to be overwhelmed, and looked up.

"Belial." Shiloh greeted the demon standing beyond the kitchen. "Nice meat suit." Just looking at him made her skin crawl and her stomach perform back-flips. The human he possessed was tall, maybe better than six feet, and wore a pair of black dress pants and a pinstripe vest over a starch white button up, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had the shadow of a beard, and his black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. She watched as he reached up, a ring glinting on his middle finger, and loosened the red tie.

"I'd hoped it might be your preference. Couldn't resist the pull of an escaped soul, especially one such as yours." His white eyes blinked, shifting back into brown human retinas. He glanced down at the devil's trap in front of him. "Thought you might get lucky?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, one corner of his mouth curled up. Shiloh shrugged, pretending to be more confident than she felt.

"More of a formality." She looked away from his sultry gaze and walked around the counter, leaning back against it, the devil's trap between them.

"Then, why don't I put you at ease?" Belial stepped into the trap, and Shiloh couldn't keep the shell-shock off her face; he laughed. "Didn't Alistair tell you I like to play with my food?"

Shiloh swallowed; she didn't need to be told anything. Standing an arm-length away from the demon, her mind was focused on him, flashes of his extracurricular activities invading her senses. Shiloh wavered, her body weaving, and she white knuckled the counter with one hand as she pressed the bridge of her nose. She glanced up and caught his stare, and her mind barrel rolled down the neuroblasts of the demon's mind. She felt the rage at being cast down from Heaven alongside Lucifer, the hostility towards human religion, and the increased boredom of facing eternity in Hell. Shiloh blinked, staring at herself through the human eyes the demon inhabited, only it was the memory of her soul. Her breath caught in her throat.

"I have the distinct feeling that you're psychic." Belial stood just at the edge of the trap as she returned to herself, breathing unevenly.

"I've never really classified myself as such, but we'll leave it at that." Shiloh heard a laugh come out of her, and she rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension.

"Then, you know exactly what I want and why I want it." Shiloh closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking the demon in the eyes.

"You want my soul," Shiloh confirmed. "I escaped you through the Devil's Gate, and you're like a dog with a bone."

"You're my bone." Shiloh could have sworn that Belial's human eyes glittered with the innuendo, and she felt an unease settle in the pit of her stomach. Doubt fluttered through her mind, but the image of Dean's demon double stiffened her resolve.

"I want the name of the demon who holds Dean Winchester's contract." She forced herself from the counter top, and her back straightened her to her full height at five ten. Shiloh's booted feet were planted shoulder length apart and she folded her arms. There was a thrill coming from Belial's mind, and she briefly pictured a quickened heartbeat, an excitement that pulsed and plotted. He pursed his lips, eyes and thoughts calculating. Shiloh narrowed her eyes, searching, trying to find a dog treat to throw him, and she knew this wouldn't be the last time this game of cat and mouse would be played between them.

"I'll give you my name in return." Belial whistled in surprise, having expected something more along the lines of a threat.

"An information exchange." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "How can we trust each other to be honest?" Shiloh couldn't help the curl of her lips.

"You can't, but, trust me, I'll know if you're playing me false."

"So, let's make a..."

"No." She cut him off. "No deal. Deals are all about subtext and reading the fine print. You'll just have to take my word on faith." Shiloh knew she was playing with fire; rage burned beneath that suave exterior, but it was his struggle to stay calm that Shiloh focused on. He shored himself up and steadily returned to the calculating gaze; she knew she had him. Her soul was the draw, the hook, the bone: that bright, shining, pure soul that she couldn't believe resided in her, but was willing to take advantage of. Belial stared evenly at her.

"Very well. Lilith. Lilith holds the Winchester's contract." Shiloh held his gaze, her eyes narrowed, though not from any sense of falsity; she needed to find a way to get the information to Dean, a way that wouldn't draw the attention of the angel on her shoulder. Castiel had accepted that the righteous man was going to Hell, but Shiloh believed in choice. She believed in the choice to save a man's life.

"My name is Shiloh." She retrieved her knife and bent down, scraping a gap in the dried blood. Keeping the knife firmly in her grip, Shiloh stepped away, maintaining a distance between her and the demon as he stepped out of the devil's trap. His eyes blinked into white.

"A name has power." His smile was light, and there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes. But Shiloh only stared.

"A gift has more."

-

That evening, Shiloh sat in the center of the bed; a shining light filled the room, pulsing and vibrating with disapproval. It had been a long time since Castiel had appeared as such, though Shiloh much preferred him inside a vessel. As he was, Shiloh's mind was filled to the brim with angelic anger; at least with a vessel, the intensity was dialed down, dulled, and she was less likely to be overwhelmed by his will. Which is why he'd appeared this way instead.

"What you did was exceedingly dangerous." The voice pounded inside her mind, and Shiloh had to bite her tongue to keep from reducing herself to a sobbing bundle begging for forgiveness.

"What I did was necessary." She forced out through gritted teeth.

"You could have achieved the same end without giving him your name." The light rocked around her, and the movement called up the memories of her childhood nightmares and how the angel would chase them away just by enveloping her. She'd felt safe then, but, now, she knew better. Her childhood savior was one of the most dangerous creatures in all existence, and it wasn't because of the power he held; it was because of the mechanical, militaristic soldier that he was. For him, everything was straight forward; there was no room for manipulatory games in his mind.

"I achieved exactly what I wanted." She spat out, and Castiel's light drew back a fraction. "The knowledge of my name is of less threat than any knowledge of my gift. If I had just plucked Lilith's name out of his head, he would've realized I'm much more than a simple psychic. I baited him, and, yes, I meant to." There was a hum of confusion in her mind.

"Why? Belial wants your soul."

"Exactly. I dangled it on a string, and, if I play my cards close to my chest, I'll be able to keep him from being a key player in the Winchesters' lives." The voice ceased booming in her head and became a rolling wave of contemplative thought. It didn't cease the disapproval that Castiel emanated, but it was a start. With the exception of Thomas, Castiel was the only being she couldn't stand being disappointed in her.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I asked you not to get involved." Castiel said at last, and Shiloh gave a small smile.

"I know, but you knew I wouldn't just sit on my thumbs. It's my choice. I can act on the periphery, I won't be directly involved, and, if I can keep a powerful demon away from our boys, I will. Without hesitation." Shiloh felt the briefest surge of something she wasn't quite sure how to describe, but could only be called validation.

Then, she was on her back; Castiel's radiance pressed her into the plush mattress, and she could feel his energy wrap around her, gripping her. She felt herself burning on the inside, and it felt as if he were trying to coalesce their beings. He didn't know what he was doing to her. Waves of force crashed over her and crested through her, and she was rising, rising, rising on a volcano of bliss, rising parallel to Castiel's need to show her his appreciation.

As she became incapable of conscious thought, tendrils of energy wrapped around her and lifted her, cradling her. The intensity of the experience was reigned in to a gentle caress, the waves no longer crashing into her. It soothed her.

"I have to go." His voice whispered in her mind, and she was laid softly back into the bed, the covers rising over her.

"Okay, Cas..." Shiloh couldn't get out the rest of his name before she was unconscious in sleep.

-

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Shiloh looked up from her perch on the window seat. Bela Talbot stood just inside the door of her hotel room, key still in the lock. Shiloh tilted her head, gazing at the English woman. She had a hard exterior, but it was in stark opposition to what Shiloh could tell. Bela was frightened, as anyone with a survival instinct such as hers would be with hellhounds on the scent.

"I just wish to talk." Shiloh spoke softly; Bela's contract would come due in a little under one week's time, and Shiloh couldn't afford to be aggressive. Bela seemed to consider as she took the key from the lock and dropped it in the pocket of her jacket. She stepped in, closing and locking the door behind her, and cautiously sat down on the bed facing her intruder. Shiloh shifted and stretched her legs out on the floor in front of her. "I know about your contract." Bela's eyes flashed.

"You don't know any..."

"I know about your parents and why you made your deal." Shiloh's voice was calm and exacting. The flash of memories from Bela weren’t anything Shiloh hadn’t seen before; she’d been open to the depravity of humanity, as well as its empathy and compassion. Shiloh had feared that she’d become numb to the cruelty that human individuals were capable of, but, watching young Bela’s bedroom door close behind her father, made her sick. Bela watched her, lips thin and eyes hard. "Lilith holds your contract. She wanted you to steal the Colt, so you stole it. And now, she wants you to kill Sam Winchester."

"So, you're a Winchester groupie?" Shiloh smiled, teeth showing.

"Not quite, but I did know their father." Bela's eyes narrowed, and Shiloh continued. "Lilith also holds Dean Winchester's contract." Shiloh stood and headed towards the door.

"Why should I care?" Shiloh paused, glancing at Bela, who had stood and now had a gun aimed at her head. She smiled, suddenly fond of the forced self-assurance Bela exhibited.

"I never said you should, but..." Shiloh reached into the pocket of her black leather jacket. "In the end, information is all you'll have." Shiloh pulled out a vine about six to seven inches long, and, standing on her toes, she placed it on top of the door frame. She spoke over her shoulder, "Devil's shoestring. It's the best I can offer given the circumstances." Shiloh unlocked the door and left.

-

Dean's hallucinations had begun, and Shiloh had less than thirty hours to get to Thomas, who'd been vastly concerned over the phone. She'd asked him for a favor, though she knew that he'd been shocked and angry and then upset and worried. Shiloh couldn't have expected anything else; asking her brother to check her into a mental ward was the epitome of what she'd always been afraid of, but it would be beneficial in the long run. There was two hundred and fifty miles between Charlotte, which she'd just left, and Atlanta, where Thomas was waiting for her; he'd been bouncing hospitals after she'd dropped out of college, and she wondered why he didn't just settle down. The answer was that he was restless with his baby sister on the road running from the voices.

At her normally cautious pace, it would take her ten to fifteen days to complete that mileage on foot, but she couldn't afford that now. Shiloh cursed the pack of demons she'd ran into in Greensboro; the hunt had lasted several days past what she'd anticipated, and she had been unsure on occasion of whether she'd been the one hunting or the one hunted, though she'd stayed one step ahead of them, cornering them one at a time and exorcising them.

"Hey, Castiel. I could use some help right about now." She said through gritted teeth. She hated having to say those words; she hated the moments when she had to ask him for help. She hated that he hid in Heaven while the Apocalypse was on the horizon. But there was no changing his nature; at least, she wouldn't be the one to do so. Shiloh knew she was a constant for Castiel, the same as he was for her. She'd never openly challenged his way of thinking, and, if she did so now, it would not be towards anyone's benefit.

If Sam and Bobby Singer couldn't save Dean, even with Ruby's help, Shiloh wanted to be in a position to help when the angels laid siege to Hell. She didn't like the idea of speaking to Castiel beforehand, because, if he asked questions, she wouldn't lie to him. And he would disapprove of the strategy she had in mind.

"What do you need?" Shiloh turned and choked back a laugh. Before her stood a bombshell, and that was the only way Shiloh could explain it. Blonde, busty, and beautiful.

"I don't know whether to be jealous or jump you." The vessel's face twisted in confusion.

"I don't understand..."

"Nevermind." Shiloh waved a hand, amusement settling her nerves. "But that vessel? Really?"

"It was convenient."

"They're all convenient." She threw back. "I'm just questioning this choice."

"I found her on a corner." Shiloh froze, her duffel bag dropping from her grasp. Laughter bubbled up until she couldn't hold it in, and, then, she was doubled over, her stomach writhing with it.

"I don't understand." Castiel said petulantly. "You sounded urgent." Shiloh finally reined in her delight at Castiel's plight, and she stood, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, just..." She bent down and retrieved her duffel. "I really needed that." Shiloh hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd laughed like that, and she had to think for a moment before remembering when it was. It had been with Thomas, of course, before she'd dropped out of college; before she'd really known just what it meant to classify oneself as a pseudo-psychic, pseudo-hunter. Perhaps there was nothing false about either classification; perhaps Shiloh just liked to sell herself short. "I, uh, need you to relocate me. Thomas is waiting for me in Atlanta, and I'm behind schedule."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Dean's remaining time, would it?" There was a touch of knowing amusement in Castiel's voice.

"Yes, but I really don't want to have this conversation while you're wearing a possible prostitute." A wave of abashedness sprung from the angel though it was short-lived as he tamped it back down. She sighed. "Okay. We can have this conversation now. We both know that there are certain people whose minds I can slip into easier than others. And we both know that the Winchesters and their human associates are those people." She was working herself up to it, to tell him the idea that had been circling in her brain. Castiel nodded, and Shiloh dived in, closing her eyes. His vessel disappeared, and, in her mind, she could see the angel, light bright and undulating.

"You need to be the one who reaches Dean in Hell. It needs to be you." Castiel's energy pulsed. "It needs to be you, because, of all the angels in Heaven, you are the one who sees the potential of humanity. And I'm not talking about as a whole, because, as a whole, trust me, we're shit. But you love us, or you..." Shiloh didn't finish that last statement. It had been unspoken between them all her life, so, instead, she pushed sincerity and admiration out to the angel through the bond of their minds.

"How? Once the order is given, thousands of angels will lay siege to Hell, and I won't be the strongest among them." The vessel's voice made Castiel seem small and vulnerable, but, inside her mind, it was humbled; she knew that her words had affected the angel.

"You'll have me. Stay at the forefront of the force sent to Hell, and, the moment you break through, I can pull you right to Dean Winchester." The words tumbled from her mouth, and indignance rolled from Castiel.

"You can't go to Hell again, Shiloh. I forbid it."

"No, not me. Not my soul." She agreed, flinching from the tone of command. "But Dean and his soul will. If I am in his mind when he gets dragged to Hell, the trauma of that has the potential to lock me with him."

"The potential? Shiloh, you'd be essentially placing yourself in a coma." The disapproval radiated around her and inside her mind, but Shiloh gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes tighter.

"Which is why Thomas is setting me up in the psychiatric ward at his hospital. The moment I go unconscious, I'll be taken care of." She felt Castiel look away from her.

"There are too many risks, Shiloh. I can't..."

"Can't what? Can't allow me? Castiel, I'll do this with you or without you. I'm not your soldier." She swelled with anger again at the passiveness of angels. "I know the risks," She said, her voice softer. "How could I not? Belial is out there. He's searching for leverage against me. He'll find it eventually, so I can't worry about it. He has some demons on the lookout for me, so I will isolate myself and take every precaution I can." The fight was draining out of the angel; Castiel knew Shiloh as well as, if not better, than anyone. He knew she wouldn't back down.

"Let me help you, Castiel. For once, let me help you when you haven't asked for it." Shiloh finally opened her eyes, too open to continue looking at the celestial energy inside the eye of her mind.

"You'll experience everything Dean experiences: pain, death, torture. All of it." There was emotion in Castiel's voice, and Shiloh looked up at the vessel, taken aback at finding tears in those eyes. She nodded, knowing. "I do not know what state your mind will be in if I succeed in bringing Dean back." Shiloh shored herself up and raised her eyebrows.

"I'll be fine, you'll do great, and that's what really matters." The vessel's brow wrinkled, bristling with irritation.

"How are you so confident?" Castiel asked. Shiloh turned away, watching the vessel in her periphery; when she turned back, she grinned.

"I rub the lotion on my skin. Now, zap me to Atlanta, and get out of that."

-

It didn't take much to get Shiloh interred into a private room in the psychiatric ward and that didn't comfort Thomas at all. Her presence there was off the grid; Thomas had called in a favor, no questions asked. But the bad feeling he'd had when Shiloh asked him to do this only got worse as he watched her go through something that was obviously routine. She hid a small bag that looked like burlap in her pillow. At her request, he brought her a step ladder, and she climbed up just inside of the door. Using her fingertips, she used what she explained to be ultraviolet paint to draw something he couldn't see on the ceiling. Shiloh drew other things on the inside of the door and on the window, and she seemed to hesitate before handing over her duffel to him; he was shocked at how heavy it was, but she made him promise not to open it unless he needed to and to keep it with him at all times.

Thomas was torn. On one hand, he felt resigned; the arguments he'd had with Phillip over their youngest sister hadn't set well on his shoulders, especially behind Shiloh's back. But he could see Phil's point. Phil had never been close to Shiloh, had never looked past the backward sociability, had never spoken to her beyond sending her away. The only thing about Shiloh that anyone in the family saw was the way she knew things, how her eyes were always unfocused and far away. 

But Thomas knew Shiloh. So, on the other hand, he was a mixture of proud and protective. Whatever made her different, whether it was psychological or not, wasn't ruling her life. She was handling it. Thomas had thought quite the opposite after she'd dropped out of college; he thought she'd been making a mistake. But whenever they'd ended up in the same town or city, Shiloh always sought him out, even when he hadn't known she was there. 

He remembered when he'd taken a job in Richmond as a trauma surgeon; a man had been brought in with deep lacerations to his abdomen. Before the sedatives had kicked in, this man had asked, "Where's the girl? Is she okay?" over and over again until someone simply told him that, yes, she was. He'd survived. Thomas had received a text several days later from an unknown number that said, "Thank you for saving his life. He's a good man. -S." He knew it was from Shiloh immediately; her numbers always changed sporadically, but she always kept his. When he'd gone to question his trauma patient, Thomas hadn't been able to find him; a nurse said he'd checked out of his accord, and they hadn't been able to keep him due to insurance complications. 

Shiloh had visited him a month later, and, when asked about the incident, she'd smiled and told him that it was a hunting accident; she'd been the one to find him and bring him in. Thomas hadn't asked how; he knew Shiloh couldn't drive. They'd kept the visit cordial, straying from the important questions that neither wanted to ask or answer. Instead, Thomas had been struck by the changes in Shiloh. Her sarcasm and cynicism were still in place, but her eyes were brighter, as if the physical fogginess couldn't keep out the hope. She was in shape, and she said she ate and slept a little better than she had before hitting the road. Thomas still worried, of course, but he breathed a little easier to see that she was happier than she'd ever been. 

And now he wondered what had changed. Shiloh seemed resigned and calm, but her fingers shook and her eyes shifted.

"Shi, what's going on?" He asked, and Shiloh sighed, taking a deep breath and fidgeting with the collar of the hospital gown. 

"You wouldn't believe me, Thomas. I don't have any proof for you right now." She bit her lip, and Thomas fingered the pendant that hung around his neck. Shiloh had given it to him when he'd left for college. When he'd asked her what it meant, her thirteen-year-old self had told him that it was so he'd always be himself. He'd looked it up later and had been amused to find it was an anti-possession charm. But still he wore it.

"So, tell me what to expect. I'm freaking out here." At that moment, a nurse came in and began prepping Shiloh, placing an IV in her left arm and asking the routine questions. After she left, Thomas looked at Shiloh pointedly. 

"Fine. But no medications for two hours. That's all the time I need, okay?" Her eyes pleaded with him, and he nodded. She leaned back and rubbed her hands into her eyes. "So, the closest thing I've found to describe me is that I’m psychic." She held up a hand to stop his reaction. "It's not an explanation I am holding to, but it'll suffice. Now, in two hours, someone very important is going to die, and he's going to Hell." 

"Shiloh..."

"You wanted to know!" She snapped, and he closed his mouth. "This stuff in my head isn't just voices, Tom. They aren't made up from a psychosis or illness. I know that just a moment ago, you were remembering that hunter in Richmond and, before that, about how Phillip tried to convince you to have me locked up. I know that that nurse of mine doesn't care about this job because that's all it is. What matters to her is the child that she raises on her own in a one room apartment. And this man who's going to die? I know him like I know you. I've known him since I was a child. He's real and so is his brother, and they drive that '67 Chevy Impala that I drew when I was younger." She paused for a breath, and Thomas was stunned.

"So, what are you doing here?" It was the only thing he could ask. Forget the psychic crap. If Shiloh cared about these brothers as she obviously did, then why wasn't she with them trying to save the one? "Why aren't you with them?"

"Because I made a promise." She mumbled; she was miserable. 

"A promise to whom?"

"Castiel." Thomas' jaw dropped. Shiloh hadn't mentioned her childhood angel friend in years, since she was in single digits. "I know what you're going to say, so don't. Whatever I am, psychic or whatever, Sam and Dean wouldn't want me in their lives. Castiel made me promise not to get directly involved, so I work on the periphery. I help others like them. And I stay off the radar." Thomas closed his eyes, not understanding.

"You think that these... Sam and Dean wouldn't be able to look past your... this psychic stuff?" 

"No, I'm saying that when faced with something they don't understand, their first instinct is to kill it." Thomas blinked, sitting down heavily on the visitor's chair, the duffel dropping to the floor. "I'm not helping my plea to sanity with you, am I?"

Thomas couldn't help but chuckle, because she'd echoed his thoughts. Shiloh sounded so sincere, as if her life had been completely built around whatever she heard in her head, something that she'd never described to him. He'd never asked; he'd never wanted to open that door, but it might come to that. More than anything, Thomas was afraid his original conclusion that it wasn't anything medical would turn out to be wrong. But there were too many coincidences, too many things she knew that she shouldn't, couldn't possibly know. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wanting nothing more than to take her and hide; the way he used to when their older brothers and their friends would play their version of Blind Man's Bluff, using the blind little sister. They would push and trip and prod at her, and Thomas would take her and hide until the bullies got bored. Thomas had that feeling now, though it was a hundred times stronger, because he believed her. He loved his sister, and, dammit, he believed her. 

Thomas looked up at Shiloh, who sat cross-legged on the hospital bed, and met her eyes. The milkiness of her eyes always made it difficult to read her. Her eyesight was sporadic at best, but there was still no color; this was a physical impossibility as far as he knew, though optometry was not his specialty. 

"Hey, Thomas," Shiloh said, and he made some sort of noise to let her know that he was listening. "There are things that go bump in the night, and there are people who bump back." She was grinning sheepishly, and Thomas huffed out an exasperated breath. 

"Did you just appropriate a Hellboy quote?" He could see the anxiety bleeding out of her, her shoulders slack, and she rolled her neck. For an hour, they talked and laughed, staying away from the reason she was here.

"I've got five minutes. Can you make sure the nurses are on standby? I'm not exactly sure what's going to happen, but I will see you again." Thomas watched as Shiloh laid back, straightening herself out on the hospital bed and closing her eyes. For the past half hour, she'd been far away, hardly acknowledging his presence. He wondered where she was now, her face devoid of emotion.

Thomas checked outside the room to see the nurses' station; Shiloh's nurse was within call if anything happened, though Thomas was clearly out of his depth here. He didn't know what to expect; mentioning her going Reagan or Emily Rose had simply made her fall into a fit of hysterical laughter, which, regardless, had been nice to see. 

Returning to Shiloh's side, Thomas happened to glance at her heart monitor. He felt panic for the first time. Real, blind panic. Shiloh's heart rate was increasing, and rapidly. He glanced at his watch to find that five minutes had dwindled down to one. Thomas stood paralyzed as the monitor started to beep loudly, drawing the attention of the nurse, who pushed past him, but he couldn't move. 

Then, blood began to pool against her hospital gown, groups of three long stripes appearing on her chest, abdomen, and left thigh. Thomas reached out and gripped her hand, but Shiloh wasn't screaming. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her teeth clenched together, blood seeping between them. Other nurses came in, hands steered him to the perimeter, and Thomas felt the tears in his eyes. This couldn't be happening; what was happening?

He felt numb, staggering from the men's room back to his sister's side. He collapsed in the chair next to her bed, aware that he was breaking several rules by staying after hours, but he didn't care. The doctor in Shiloh's case wanted to move her to the coma ward of the hospital, but Thomas knew that couldn't happen. He steepled his fingers, leaning on his elbows, and looked at Shiloh. She'd been dressed in a new gown, the gashes sewn up; they'd only been superficial, cutting as deep as the fifth layer of skin in some areas. She'd have scars, but, from what he could tell, that wasn't unusual for her. Thomas pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes; having to answer questions about Shiloh's apparent self-harming and possible suicidal tendencies had unraveled him, especially after witnessing her get torn up without an obvious cause. Shiloh's doctor pushed it off as shock, a brother not wanting to believe that his sister wanted to die. 

But Thomas knew better, and he resolved to believe in Shiloh. 

-


	4. The Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiloh realizes she doesn’t have to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of canon: 4x01, 4x02

_Tears stream down your face_   
_When you lose something you cannot replace_   
_Tears stream down your face_

Thomas' back ached. For the past four months, he'd hardly gone home, determined to be there when Shiloh woke. He slept dejectedly on the small, uncomfortable couch that accompanied her room, which was better than the godforsaken chair that he found himself sitting in more often than not. He was a constant face at the hospital, something that didn't go unnoticed by the staff, some of whom pitied him; others just smiled encouragingly. They saw the big brother in the emergency trauma surgeon, and he was always on call because he was always close at hand. On the few occasions he did go home, it was to receive visits from his parents or wayward siblings, whose only claim to him was by blood. He never spoke of Shiloh.

There was no change in her. She lay serenely on the hospital bed, her face a smooth mask. Nervous and paranoid, he'd maintained that the windows not be washed since he rarely opened the blinds, and he made sure to retrieve the small bag from Shiloh's pillow when the orderlies came to change the sheets, returning it each time after they were gone. Thomas could no more deny that this and the invisible paint that made Shiloh feel safe also felt like armor to him. Whether it was because of her unyielding faith in it or not, he dared not question.

For four months, Thomas ran on straight coffee and Excedrin, chased occasionally with food, though, by the second month, he couldn't taste anything. He wanted this monotonous nightmare to end.

The nurses were mechanical in the way they treated his sister, and, while he rationally understood that they only saw her as a coma patient, he was resentful. Thomas would stand with his back to them as they would check her vitals and give her sponge baths, and he would try to tune out the low words of guarded conversation between them. Thomas was still shocked, even this long after finding out, about the jagged scars down Shiloh's inner wrists and the smaller ones that littered her arms; and he wondered about the angry ones on her shoulder blades. He actively ignored the claw marks he'd seen rip her open.

But more than anything, Thomas questioned where he'd gone blind. When had he stopped being an active part of Shiloh's life?

"What's this?" Thomas' ears perked up, his thoughts scattering. "Oh my god..." He turned.

"What is it?" He asked, making it to the bedside in only two strides. The nurse pointed, holding up the left sleeve of Shiloh's gown. Thomas stepped around her, taking the sleeve and pulling it up, and the breath was punched from his gut. A third degree burn in the form of a handprint had appeared over the upper part of Shiloh's arm.

"What the hell?" He whispered, tracing a finger along one edge of it, but there was no reaction from Shiloh. Thomas looked up at the nurses, and neither of them held his gaze as they hurriedly left. Shaking, Thomas lowered the sleeve, knowing one of them would be back to bandage it, but he could barely stand; he collapsed in the chair on the other side of her bed and held his head in his hands.

-

The flutter of wings startled Thomas from where he was dozing in the chair, his hand having been perched on the side of the bed next to Shiloh's. He rolled out of it to his feet and stood, ready to fight or something, he thought. But he only gaped.

"Jimmy Novak?" His eyes were wide, shock blooming in his chest.

"No. I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord." The voice was deep, the blue eyes clear. Thomas fumbled at his pants, retrieving his wallet and pulling a wad of paper from it. He unfolded it and held it out to the man in front of him. Despite the worn edges and age stains, the picture was identifiable as the man who now held it between his fingers, the name of the man in small, clear handwriting towards the top of the page. If Thomas had ever needed proof, this was it.

"She drew that when she was twelve." He said, pointing at the drawing, obvious panic in his voice. He could feel himself trembling. His world was threatening to collapse, and he tried to recover, turning away from the man who'd somehow gotten into a locked room. Thomas sat down, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other gripping Shiloh's prone hand; he clenched his eyes closed, but looked up when footsteps neared. Watching, Thomas narrowed his eyes as Castiel laid the drawing at the foot of his sister's bed and then sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, stroking the backs of his fingers against her cheek. It was an oddly intimate gesture, and Thomas couldn't push away the feeling that he was intruding.

Then, the hand in his squeezed, and he looked up.

Shiloh's eyes stung as she opened them, water welling up in them, and a wave of nausea hit her, settling deep into her stomach. She squeezed the hand in hers, and she looked up, finding Thomas staring at her with tears falling from his eyes. Shiloh gave him a small smile, but felt nothing joyous as he did. She closed her eyes, her other hand fisting into the fabric of the trench coat that Castiel's vessel wore; she could feel the concern radiating from the angel, but she pushed that away, too. For the moment, she didn't want anything to do with angels or demons or supernatural things. More than anything, the great majority of her just wanted, so bad, to take the last four months... no, forty years... back. But she swallowed down the doubt and fear, because, in the end, Castiel had pulled Dean Winchester from Hell. Somehow, Castiel had succeeded.

All of it made Shiloh feel hollow.

"Shiloh..."

"Don't." She croaked out, twisting her head to one side, her eyes clenched shut. Flashes of pain and echoes of torture traipsed through her mind. Shiloh didn't think there'd ever be enough time to get those images out of her head; and she wished she could say that the worst of their time there had been when Dean had said yes and broken the first seal, but it wasn't. The worst was knowing that her soul was safely tucked away in a mental ward; the worst was knowing she couldn't take his place. The worst was knowing that she was too much of a coward to make that call, to make a deal, to spare Dean's soul, and offer hers up in its place. The worst was that she was always willing to place the promise she'd made to Castiel above anything else.

-

Thomas sped up her extradition from the mental ward. She was out the next day, though she didn't speak and couldn't make eye contact; not that eye contact was important since her physical vision was failing again. Dean was a constant echo in her mind, and all she really had to do to tune in was think of him. She could feel the same struggle in him, and she knew neither of them would shake the stench of Hell from their minds so quickly.

Castiel beamed in a handful of times, and the one joy of seeing him was that his vessel was the vessel. Thomas had tucked the drawing of Jimmy Novak back into his wallet, hardly speaking a word when Castiel had left the first time, which was shortly after figuring out that Shiloh wouldn't talk. But when he showed up as she was lying comfortably on a pile of pillows in the spare room of Thomas' apartment, she knew he needed her to talk. The angel was shaken and dissonant.

"Pamela Barnes." Castiel nodded, and she reached out, grabbing his trench coat and pulling him down with her. He laid out stiffly on the bed, and Shiloh curled herself around him, lying her head on her arm, one hand stroking the stubble on his chin gently and the other carding through the unkempt hair that tickled her nose. Shiloh smiled a small smile, recognizing the moment as the first since Hell that she'd felt any peace, even if it was just small comfort. Castiel needed the distraction. "So, what's he like in person?"

"Dean?" She hummed assent, and she felt the angel considering. Shiloh could pick it out of him, but they both knew she wouldn't. She would have to tell Castiel eventually that, since Hell, her gift was resonating, building like a massive wave amid a hurricane; she didn't know what it meant, but she felt more in control of it. What she wouldn't mention was how it made her afraid. Instead, she focused on Jimmy's mussed up hair and briefly thought of Amelia and Claire. "He shot me twice and stabbed me with a knife. I'm not sure how that would be taken in human terms."

"You ripped him out of Hell. What did you expect? A fruit basket?" She felt a ripple of dissatisfaction, and Shiloh knew that Castiel had hoped for something more: another human who could witness his celestial existence. "Dean's witnessed a lot of terrible things in his life, Castiel. He expects nothing good."

"He doesn't think he deserved to be saved." Shiloh had her eyes closed, wanting nothing more than to just lay there forever, because this would be the only time she'd have with the angel. As soon as this moment shattered, he would be lost to her. So, she pressed her fingers along his scalp and let the light of him drown her mind, and only then did she speak.

"The worthwhile ones never do." She felt Castiel shift, and she opened her eyes to find bright blue ones staring intently into her. He reached up, rubbing his thumb over the lower edge of the burn on her arm, and Shiloh felt her pulse quicken and her skin tingle. She coughed, raking her fingers through his hair one last time before she got up. She retrieved her plaid button up from the hanger on the back of the door and put it on.

"I need to say goodbye to Thomas, then you can zap me somewhere." Shiloh ignored the angel as he stood and waited; she slipped on her boots and checked her duffel bag, feeling a tremendous sense of relief as she rubbed a finger over the edge of her knife. She stowed it away, then threw the bag onto the bed. "I'll be right back."

Thomas was leaning against the counter in the kitchen when she found him. She retrieved a soda for each of them, and they silently popped the tops and took a long first drink. He watched her thoughtfully, but Shiloh couldn't look at him. Thomas expected her to leave, she knew, but he didn't want her to. Shiloh would give anything to stay with Thomas, to stay tucked away from all the terror she'd been facing. But she couldn't ask Thomas to take her in; he would do so in a heartbeat, she knew. Shiloh also knew that what she was running from was dangerous and, as soon as she found a way, she'd have to turn around and face it. She would wholeheartedly admit that Belial frightened her, but she had walked hand and hand with fear for the majority of her life.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Thomas asked finally, and Shiloh was grateful to be pulled from her thoughts. She nodded, taking another sip of her soda before setting it on the counter top.

"I know the last four months weren't easy for you." Shiloh knew that she would never fully understand Thomas' experience even if she could read it on his face. She hadn't been the one living by his side as he lay in a coma. Those four months were something neither of them could get back, and it had been traumatizing for each of them in separate but equal ways.

"It wasn't easy for you either, Shi." Thomas shifted, setting his soda aside as well. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. "Damn it, you were downright traumatized when that...when Castiel woke you up." Shiloh looked away and closed her eyes, her lips pressed tightly together. He was going to ask her what happened. He would want to know what she had experienced. Shiloh felt herself becoming numb, icy fingers wrapping around the base of her spine, and she opened her eyes and stared at her brother.

"You're not going to tell me what happened either, are you? You're just going to leave, as if the last four months were just part of a routine cake walk for you..." Thomas turned away from her, but the words sunk into into her skin and anger bloomed inside her. She followed him into the living room, both unaware of Castiel standing stoically just inside the hallway entrance.

"What do you want me to say?" Her voice rose in octave, and it was Thomas' turn to stare at her. "Do you want to know that I spent forty years in Hell alongside the soul of one of the strongest humans I've ever known? That for forty years I was driven insane by the screaming and the suffering of others, drowning in blood? That I watched a righteous man break under impossible circumstances, knowing there was nothing I could do except wait to save him? Is any of this what you want to hear?"

Shiloh didn't want to talk about it. Nothing she said would ever make it okay, just as nothing would ever make her forget the way Thomas looked at her now. The way he saw her helped him to feel validated that she'd gone through something terrible. Shiloh had never been vulnerable in his eyes; she'd shouldered so much responsibility without stumbling under the weight that he'd felt on occasion that he were the younger sibling. Shiloh had never felt the pedestal he'd set her on as much as she did in that moment.

Thomas couldn't meet her eyes as he shifted from one foot to another. Glancing around, Shiloh cleared her throat, and he followed her gaze to find that Castiel had stepped into the room, Shiloh's duffel bag held in one hand. Concern danced through her as the angel shifted his eyes from her to her brother.

"I think we're out of time, Thomas." Shiloh said, taking her duffel from Castiel, who had inclined his head to the side while looking at her.

"Wait..." Thomas suddenly enveloped her in his arms and crushed her to his chest. Relief burst inside her, and she clung to him, taking the moment and tucking it away. When he let go and stepped back, his face was drawn with acceptance. "Is there...Is there anyone you can go to? Who could, you know, keep you safe if you needed it? I mean, just while you're still recuperating." Shiloh paused, then smiled.

-

With Thomas' request, Shiloh settled on people close to the Winchesters. Outside of Thomas and Castiel, their acquaintances were all she knew; she could trust the majority of them on sight. She'd found Ellen Harvelle in Springfield, Missouri, with her daughter. To Shiloh, Ellen was the quintessential mother figure, especially compared with Shiloh's own. Still weak from her four months in a coma and her refusal to let Castiel heal her, the thought of having someone who was both caring and nurturing close by was a comfort, even if Shiloh wouldn't get involved; she let the memories of Ellen's concern for Sam and Dean bear her.

Just after midnight, Castiel dropped her off, with a nonexistent farewell, at a motel only a couple of miles from the one the Harvelle's were occupying. Shiloh paid for a room for the night and had barely locked the door behind her before the wind was knocked out of her, and she stood staring wide-eyed at a woman holding a sawed-off shotgun. Shiloh recognized her as Olivia Lowry, one of the few good hunters who had a permanent home base. Panic welled up inside Shiloh, and the screaming warning that clawed its way into her throat latched on to her vocal chords as she watched Olivia get torn apart.

When she came to, Shiloh found herself clutching a piece of paper and a pen in her hands. The symbol that had been drawn in the center of the page was that of the circular brand she'd seen on the hand of the spirits attacking Olivia. A spike of somber recognition ignited in her gut, and Shiloh had no choice but to force the information through to Castiel. Someone had broken a seal, and she knew Lilith was a good bet; the Rising of the Witnesses was just one of the hundreds of seals that could be broken, but it was going to be devastating to others like Olivia if it wasn't stopped.

Shiloh picked herself up off the floor and emptied the bile in her stomach in the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she closed her eyes and pushed her mind out, locating Ellen and Jo quickly. They would be easy targets if they were taken unaware. The Witnesses were not like other spirits; they were mindless with the commands of their master, the being who had raised them. Relief shuddered through her that the Harvelle's were in a twenty-four hour diner, though the knowledge did nothing to dissipate the unease. Shiloh knew she didn't have the tools to perform the spell that would send the Witnesses back to rest.

Settling down for the night and with practiced measures, Shiloh eased herself into lucid sleep. It wasn't the most pleasant of ways to rest, but it kept her mind awake and aware, though her body was rigid with anxiety, ready to move at a moment's notice. She watched as Ellen and Jo left the diner and returned to their motel room, their discussion of a possible case hushed against passerby. Castiel was currently fighting in a battle alongside his brothers and sisters, and the Winchesters were racing back to Bobby's. Shiloh knew Sam had seen the brand, and she could only hope that they connected the dots before too many lives were lost.

-

The warehouse was abandoned, had been for almost twenty years. The business that it had housed had fallen under after the mysterious death of its owner and benefactor. Shiloh managed to pry a back door open wide enough for her to slip through, the rough metal brushing painfully against the bruises hidden beneath her shirt. Her entire body ached; she hadn't counted on her mind still being bonded with Dean Winchester, causing her body to echo every trauma the righteous man experienced. He'd had his ass handed to him by a Witness only a handful of hours ago, and, after figuring out what was going on, Shiloh had had to just grit her teeth and take it. She hoped it was only an unfortunate side effect of being locked in Hell with Dean's soul for four months and that it would wear off sooner rather than later. Luckily, Dean had commented on the brand he'd seen on Meg Masters, and it was now only a matter of time before Bobby put two and two together. Shiloh just hoped she wasn't too late to help Ellen and Jo.

She'd been tailing the pair since picking herself up off the floor. They were poking around the warehouse due to a possible case and had only just been taken unawares by a Witness. Shiloh had been hesitant to interfere, but the death toll was now in the double digits; she was tired of sitting on the sidelines. So, she tucked her double barrel Lupara into her shoulder and moved carefully across the main floor; her duffel weighed heavily on her shoulders, and Shiloh was keenly aware of the pistols in her shoulder holsters. Her skin felt tight, nearly suffocating; she bit back the pain, focusing on where the Harvelles were beneath her in the basement. She cast her eyes about, searching for the area of the floor that had caved in that she saw in Ellen's mind, but she was cautious, testing the floor beneath her feet before placing her weight down.

She caught sight of the dilapidated section just as Jo screamed, and caution flew out of her mind as she ran to the edge. Ellen was grappling with her own Witness, and Jo was holding her own, managing to keep the spirit's arm from making any further headway past the layers of skin. Shiloh raised her gun and fired, the recoil forcing her to bite her lip. But it was enough. The Witness disappeared, and Ellen managed to swing a length of iron rebar through the second one. After catching her breath, Ellen threw an arm around Jo and pulled her up; both looked up at Shiloh, who was already looking for a way to get the two of them out of there.

“Stairwell to your left!” She yelled, and she ran towards the door even as Ellen and Jo went scrambling towards the one she’d indicated. They burst through just as a Witness appeared on the first landing. Shiloh aimed over the banister and fired, ignoring the soreness in her shoulder and reloading two more rounds of rock salt. Ellen and Jo climbed, and Shiloh pushed them past her and back onto the main floor. "The floor is stronger near the wall. Go, quickly, the door at the back."

Shiloh fanned out, using all three sets of their eyes to keep on guard. The Witnesses were unwavering in their goal; Ellen and Jo wouldn't be safe unless the spell was completed and the spirits were put back to rest. Shiloh risked tuning into Dean, and she could have whooped in joy as she found that Bobby was preparing the spell work. It shouldn't be long now.

And then her heart faltered. Shiloh fell to her knees, a cry escaping past her lips. Henriksen. He was wrist deep in Dean's chest. Shiloh's vision started to fail, and she closed her eyes. Ellen and Jo had stopped and turned to come back for her. Two Witnesses appeared between them, back to back, eyeing the three of them. Shiloh's breath came back to her as Sam shot Henriksen, and she raised her gun, pulling the trigger. Both Witnesses disappeared, and Shiloh pushed herself to her feet and met Ellen's eyes.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell is going on?" Ellen asked. Shiloh glanced at Jo, who was pale and bleeding; the wound wasn't lethal, but it would need to be taken care of soon as possible regardless.

"Introductions later. Right now, we just need to weather the storm. There's no running away from these things." Shiloh knelt down next to a collapsed section of drywall, taking her duffel bag off her shoulders and sitting it down. Ellen maneuvered Jo around and leaned her up against a wall, then checked her own weapons. 

"These aren't normal spirits, are they?" Jo asked, her breath uneven. Shiloh admired the girl, always had. She shook her head.

"That brand on their hands mark them as Witnesses. According to Revelations, their rising is one of the signs of the Apocalypse. I'll explain more if we survive this." Shiloh hated being vague with half truths, but she had to be. She could not appear to be anything more than another hunter; she could not draw attention to herself. If Ellen and Jo ever met up with Sam and Dean again, she didn't want her name to be brought up as anything more than someone who'd spent a boatload of time in the library for her Religious Studies' courses. She looked at Ellen. 

"How does this end, then? How do we stop them?" Shiloh stood, and both of them loomed over Jo, guns in position. If Sam and Dean could manage to fight the Witnesses off, Bobby would be able to finish the spell, but she couldn't say that, even if it meant lying.

"I don't know. I'm hoping someone else out there does." Ellen looked as if she were ready to protest, but the Witnesses appeared again. Shiloh and Ellen fired and reloaded as fast as they could, but the spirits were coming at them in quick successive fury. Shiloh dropped her gun as she ran out of ammunition, pulling her fists up. The Witnesses charged again.

And vanished in blue fire. 

-

Ellen and Shiloh half-carried, half-dragged Jo into the motel room and laid her out on one of the beds. Shiloh bent down over and pulled her shirt up, exposing the wound. The Witness had slashed her pretty good, almost severing beyond the layers of skin; other than blood loss, Jo would only suffer from a decent scar. Ellen was watching her with cautious eyes, and Shiloh left Jo and retrieved the first aid kit that Thomas had stowed in her duffel. She held the kit out to Ellen.

"There's a bottle of morphine tablets in there if she needs them." Shiloh backed and sidestepped away, hurrying into the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, white knuckling the porcelain as she let the cacophony take over her head. Twenty hunters. _Twenty hunters have lost their lives, Castiel_ , she prayed, _The Winchesters need to know about the seals_. Shiloh hoped Castiel would listen. 

A knock came on the door, and Shiloh stumbled, catching herself enough to sit on the side of the tub before the door opened. Ellen peered around it and gave her a look. 

"You look like hell, girl." Ellen stood with her arms crossed, and Shiloh tried to force a smile.

"Feel like it, too." She nodded her head towards the main room. "She okay?" 

"She'll be fine, thanks to you." Shiloh shook her head, and Ellen helped her to stand and walk into the room, where she sat down on the edge of the second bed. "You sure you shouldn't take one of those pills, too?" Ellen pulled a chair over from the small desk and sat in front of her. Shiloh shook her head again.

"I'm just bruised up, but I'll live." 

“And your eyes?” Shiloh froze, but opted to tell the truth.

“I used to be blind. The fogginess just stuck.” Ellen stared at her, and Shiloh didn’t blame her for it; the sight thing was still working itself out, and she wasn’t even sure how. They were silent for a few moments, then Ellen cleared her throat.

"You want to explain what the hell happened back there now?" Shiloh's initial reaction was to curl in on herself; interacting with another hunter, especially Ellen, was different for her. She'd never gotten involved; she'd done research and passed it on. She didn't do names or conversation; she'd kept on the move. Shiloh coughed and pulled her jacket tighter. 

"I, uh, that is... those were Witnesses, as I said before. Spirits who died unnatural deaths, who couldn't be saved." Shiloh tried to present the image of an anxious twenty-year-old, though there was far more truth to it than she was willing to admit. "My mother’s Catholic, and I was a Religious Studies major at college before... before I dropped out. I was planning on doing my thesis on the different views of the Apocalypse. And then... it doesn't matter. The thing is, I found this one translation of Revelations, and it talked about the Witnesses and other things, but I'd discounted most of it. It didn't have anything to do with what my paper was on, y'know?" Shiloh swallowed, the half-truths not sitting well on her tongue; she fidgeted, waiting for another question or for a request of further information, but nothing came. She looked up and found Ellen staring at her thoughtfully. 

"What happened to you?" Ellen's voice was gentle, and Shiloh was caught off guard. She bit her lip.

"Ever since I was a little girl, I've always been... I don't know, different, I guess?" Shiloh stared at the floor, recalling the very real traumas of discovering what she could do; Castiel hadn't always been there to comfort her. "I would get these images in my head that would scare me, and, then, as I got older and I paid attention, I realized these things were actually happening. And I would try to prevent stuff... but it would just end up worse. I got hurt a lot, and everyone thought I was crazy, because I'd talk about monsters." Shiloh couldn't meet Ellen's gaze, and, for the first time in a very long, she felt vulnerable and exposed. Hell had left her that way, of course, but this was different, this was her opening up to someone who wasn't an angel. And even though she was talking only in half-truths, that didn't make it less meaningful or valid to Shiloh. 

"And then you found out the monsters were real." Ellen didn't need to phrase it as a question; Shiloh knew the look on her face was enough for Ellen to know that, yes, she had come face to face with the supernatural things that she saw in her head. Shiloh nodded and looked at the wall, the memory surfacing. She suddenly did not want to talk about it. Thankfully, Ellen changed the subject.

"So, how did you know where we were? Or that we were being attacked by those things?" Shiloh cursed in her head. 

"Ever since I dropped out of college, I research cases and pass them on to other hunters. I pegged you two as soon as you came into town, and you were after the same case, so I was going to give you the research I'd already dug up and then leave town. I recognized the brand on the spirit, and now I'm wishing I'd paid more attention to that translation of Revelations." 

"You're not really a hunter?" Ellen was smiling. Shiloh quirked one side of her mouth up.

"I prefer pseudo-hunter." 

"Well, pseudo-hunter, do you have a name?" 

"Shi." 

-


	5. The Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiloh tags along with Ellen and Jo on a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of canon: 4x04.

_Well, the dealer was blind, and I was trying to find_   
_A way to keep the winnings I’d found_   
_The smoke was thick, the tension was thicker_   
_I still thought they’d gun me down_

The water rippled as she kicked her feet gently back and forth beneath the surface. The dock was just as serene as it had been that day before the hustle and bustle of college had pulled her away. Her skin was pimpled and drops of water clung to her, the towel slung loosely about her shoulders. Shiloh missed the lake and the remote solitude that the dock had offered her when she was alone. It was hard to believe that she’d almost died there during her childhood; she hadn’t thought about it in a long time, and she pushed the thoughts away as a shadow loomed over her. She stared at the reflections in the water.

“I can’t believe you threatened to drag him back to Hell.” If the circumstances hadn’t been as serious as they were, she would’ve laughed, but the humor would be lost on the angel. Instead, she turned her head slightly and watched as Castiel knelt and sat beside her, crossing his legs under him as he had years before. Shiloh didn’t speak, returning her gaze out over the water towards her childhood home.

“You do not dream of this place often enough.” The comment startled her, and she found the angel staring at her in that unnerving way he had, his head tilted to one side. It was a quirk she hadn’t failed to notice since he’d come to possess Jimmy Novak. Shiloh blinked slowly, unsure of where the conversation was going. He continued, “Your mind takes you to dark places. You’ve called out to me on occasion.” Shiloh felt herself go numb.

“Did I do that now? With Ellen and Jo…”

“No.” He interrupted. “I brought you here.” 

The panic died in her throat, and the life-pumping organ in her chest swelled with unadulterated gratitude. She was unaware that she was white-knuckling the edge of the dock or that her back had gone rigid. She clenched her teeth together, forcing herself to breathe evenly through her nose. She looked closely around her, realizing that her surroundings were that very memory of her last day on the dock, the day that Castiel had burned sigils into her ribs. He’d brought her back to the last day that she remembered being safe and innocent.

Castiel was still staring at her. And it occurred to her that there had probably been numerous moments that he’d watched over her without her ever being aware of his presence, moments when he’d simply come because he’d wanted to, instead of waiting to hear a prayer. Shiloh tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Do you need anything?” She finally asked, her voice brusque. She could feel his stare boring into her until he relented, his gaze following hers across the lake towards her childhood home.

"How much does Dean know?" His voice was hesitant, and Shiloh turned her body towards him. 

“You mean, about Sam and Azazel?" He nodded. She narrowed her eyes. "Not enough. Sam's kept a lot from him. Still is." Shiloh looked back towards her home, seeing every detail with a bittersweet appreciation. "He's going to be a loose cannon if he finds out on his own, but Sam won't tell him. He didn't even mention that Ruby's back." Something sour settled in Shiloh's stomach; she hadn't exactly had time to delve into what Sam had been up to for four months, but she'd have to make a priority of it sooner rather than later. 

“He should know.”

“Agreed, but you have orders.” Shiloh felt the flinch in her mind, though Castiel hadn’t physically moved. Her lips pursed, noting the creased brow and firm jaw. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’d rather have Dean make that choice, but if he is to do so, then he needs to be able to make an informed one.” Castiel turned his head, and their eyes met. 

Shiloh woke to the voices in her head and light in her eyes. She blinked several times, pain blossoming at her temples; somehow she’d managed to sleep peacefully for the majority of the early morning and felt a certain angel was responsible. But Shiloh was forced back into reality as the cacophony disturbed her, and she was once again conscious of the way her body ached and her head pulsed. Pressing her face into the pillow, she allowed it to envelope her, washing her up and flowing over her; she let it carry her back to herself. 

“I think she’s awake.” Shiloh pushed herself up on her arms, remembering where she was. She found Jo Harvelle staring at her from her propped up position on the other bed, and her face flushed. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with her knuckles. Looking around, she found Ellen at the table, watching her. 

Staring back at the floor, Shiloh cursed at herself. The mother and daughter pair had no intention of just letting her walk away, and, what was worse, Shiloh had no intentions of doing so, even if the rational part of her was screaming for it. She felt her relationship with Castiel was too one-sided, and she rarely saw Thomas; Shiloh was aware that what she craved was interaction and human connection. It was the reason she’d interfered in the first place; if she hadn’t, it was likely that Ellen and Jo could’ve possibly been killed as well. Shiloh bit her lip and rubbed the back of her neck. 

“We still have a case here.” Shiloh looked up; Ellen was now staring at the open laptop screen, and Shiloh felt grateful for the reprieve. Focusing her mind on work would hopefully ease the awkwardness she felt. She stood and knelt next to her duffel, retrieving the folder of information she’d managed to gather within the short period of time that she’d had yesterday, before the Witnesses had become an issue.

“The warehouse used to house a storage manufacturing facility started and owned by Richard A. Simpson,” She said, holding the folder out to Ellen, who took and opened it. “It’s the only connection between Larry Lombard, Felicia Thompson, and Doug Amos. There were only two recorded deaths at the warehouse: the first being a night janitor who had a heart attack, and Simpson, himself, whose death was listed as suspicious, but no further investigation was conducted. The janitor was cremated, but Simpson is buried in Eastlawn Cemetery across from Cooper Park.” 

“And the connection to the victims?”

“There was a rumor that Larry Lombard was seen having an altercation with Simpson an hour or two before his body was discovered. Lombard was the owner of a rival business, and Doug Amos was Simpson’s son-in-law, who was gunning to inherit the company. Gossip among the former staff employees I talked to said that Amos was in collusion with Lombard, and he was also having an affair with Felicia Thompson.”

“So, vengeful spirit.” Ellen leaned back in her chair, still looking through the folder.

“It was the conclusion I’d come to, yes.” Shiloh leaned back against the dresser, trying to ignore the look Ellen and Jo shared. It had been easy for her to track down leads with only her mind; she hadn’t had to leave the comfort of the motel room, but she hated telling half-truths. Ellen was watching her, so she looked up and met her gaze.

“You ever dig up a body?” 

-

Shiloh crowded up against the back door of Ellen’s Jeep Cherokee and pressed her forehead against the glass, staring at the passing scenery. Shiloh had never learned to drive; there were too many risks involved with her psychic stuff to do so, and she’d had to rely on hitchhiking and her own two legs to get her from place to place. Traveling with others was a strange affair, especially Ellen and Jo, who bickered about everything, from what music to play on the radio to whether or not the windows should be down. It wasn’t hostile, but it did fill the time and was a healthy distraction for Shiloh, who could focus on the here-and-now of their words, anchoring her to their reality. 

The Winchesters were in Missouri presently, but the Harvelle’s had received a call about a possible rugaru in Lynchburg, Virginia. Shiloh had cringed at the proximity to her hometown ‒ not to mention that rugarus were her biggest hang-up ‒ but had agreed to accompany them anyway. Ever since she’d been a child, rugarus had plagued what few dreams she had, and she usually skirted around the cases she’d come across, not quite getting as involved with research as she would any other time. 

“Hey.” Shiloh’s head jerked up, and she found Jo hugging the back of her seat. “We’re going to make a pit stop. You want anything?” Shiloh straightened herself out, her head pulsing.

“Water and Excedrin would be nice.” She managed to say.

“Ugh. Boring.” Jo laid her head against the seat. “Affirmative on the painkillers though.” Shiloh dug into her back pocket and pulled out twenty dollars, which she held out to Jo.

“You can surprise me then.” The smile Jo gave her was all teeth as she took the crumpled bill. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Shiloh stayed in the vehicle as Ellen gassed it up, and Jo bounced into the station. She pressed her forehead back to the window. It had been a while since she’d heard from Castiel; the fight to stop the seals from being broken was taking its toll on all sides, so it didn’t surprise Shiloh that she’d been sidelined by the angel. She was startled out of her thoughts by Ellen, who opened the front door and hopped in, turning to look at her. Shiloh shifted uneasily.

“You’re jumpy.” Ellen had been watching her closely in a not quite cautious way, but in a way that felt far more motherly than Shiloh felt she deserved. From Ellen’s perspective, she was a twenty-year-old child who had seen beyond the veil of normal and was just doing her best to survive. It wasn’t far from the truth; in fact, more often than not, that’s exactly how Shiloh felt. If it wasn’t for the persistent, nagging loyalty she felt for Castiel, Shiloh could’ve had a human life built around hunting; she could have connected and fought alongside all the other hunters who fought the good fight. She could’ve put her abilities to good use, but, instead, the what-ifs haunted her.

“Yeah,” She swallowed. “This case… It’s bugging me. I don’t think it’s going to be as open and shut as we’re hoping.” With Ellen knowing about an extent of her abilities, Shiloh didn’t have to lie outright about certain things: her feelings on this case being one of them. It was a rugaru case; there was no doubt about that. However, the closer they got to their destination, the less likely it seemed to be an easy one. 

“Well, the mutation is passed down through bloodlines. We can start by digging into the public records.” Ellen was trying to placate her, but Shiloh only nodded. As curious as she was, this was going to be slow research for her. “Here’s Jo.” Shiloh looked up and was taken aback as Jo, who had two plastic bags in her hands, climbed into the back seat with her instead of up in the front with her mother. Jo buckled her seatbelt as Ellen pulled back out onto the highway.

“Let’s see… You said surprise you, so… Here are the painkillers you wanted and a water like you asked, but I also got us sodas and some snacks.” Jo dug through one bag, her tongue tucked between her teeth as she pulled stuff out. Shiloh was grateful for the items that now rested in her hands, but then Jo overturned the bag and just let the rest fall into a pile between them. “I figure this will last us the rest of the trip, so I hope you don’t mind that I used…”

“Not at all.” Shiloh interrupted. Money was of little concern to her next to Jo’s thoughtfulness. Jo smiled and struck up a hesitant conversation about snacks and food, what she preferred over what she disliked, and Shiloh chimed in on the rare occasion they liked the same thing. Having taken several of the Excedrin, Shiloh’s headache had minimally decreased, but, as Jo talked, the throbbing lessened; her attention was focused on Jo, keeping her centered and less distracted by the voices in her head. Jo segued into stories about the Roadhouse and the hunters who would come around, eventually mentioning the Winchesters.

“I’ve heard of them.” Shiloh murmured, unsure of how to act. She knew the stories that Jo told, picking them up as they entered Jo’s mind, and she felt invasive as she always did. She took her time picking out a gummy bear from the pack Jo held out to her, more overwhelmed by how both Ellen and Jo kept the grief over Dean buried deep. The truth of Dean's resurrection was just behind her lips, but bit it back.

“I went on my first hunt with them, though they were very reluctant about it at first.” Shiloh felt Ellen shifted in the driver seat as she listened to Jo talk about the hunt of H. H. Holmes, how she’d been held captive by his spirit, and then set herself up as bait. Shiloh bit her lip, Jo’s admission to Dean on the reason she wanted to hunt springing up in her mind. Shiloh admired Jo, because Jo had chosen this life; she knew the monsters were out there and wanted to save lives, the added bonus being that it helped her feel close to her father. Shiloh had made the same decision, though she honestly didn’t believe free will had anything to do with it. 

“What about you?” Shiloh looked up, finding Jo’s eyes expectant. 

“What? First encounter?” She asked, and Jo nodded. Shiloh swallowed. She couldn’t say that her first encounter with a supernatural being had been when she was hardly ten days old or that that being had been an angel; she couldn’t say that she knew the monsters through the eyes and experiences of others such as the Winchesters. “I, uh, ran into a vampire when I was in college.” 

“Woah, how? Like down a back alley or something, like in the movies?” Jo’s eyes were wide, and Shiloh envied how easily Jo spoke.

“Yeah, actually.” Jo’s breath whistled through her teeth, and Shiloh focused on the memory, tailoring it to the broadest terms. “I thought he was just a creep at first, but then he went all teeth on me. We were on some scaffolding, and I broke a piece of wood off in his chest. By the time he launched himself at me, I was all adrenaline, and we fell to the ground. I just started… hacking at his neck with the other piece. The next thing I knew, I was sitting there with a head and a body, and I hurt all over. I dropped out not too long after that.” 

“Holy crap. What were you doing out at night anyway?” Jo crammed a handful of Combos into her mouth. She’d shifted under the seatbelt and now sat with her back to the door with her feet tucked under her. Shiloh realized her hands were shaking, and she stared at the can of Pringles on her knees.

“It was a habit when I couldn’t sleep. Occasionally, I’d just stay in my room and study. But I’ve always been restless, so I’d wander around a lot.” Shiloh shrugged, looking up. Jo was chewing thoughtfully, and it was quiet between them before Ellen spoke.

“You two should try to get some sleep. We’ll be driving through the night.” Ellen glanced back at Shiloh with a quirked smile, and Jo gave her a toothy grin before curling up more and laying her head on the back of the seat. As she crowded up against the door again, Shiloh felt something she wasn’t sure she could describe.

-

Shiloh considered herself lucky when they arrived in Lynchburg. Without any solid leads, Shiloh offered to research the local history for anything similar to the attacks they were currently looking into. Her theory was that if the rugaru was born and raised in the area, then maybe his family had roots here as well. Ellen agreed and opted to go with Jo and check out the police reports from the incidents. After a night’s rest at a motel, Shiloh was dropped off at the library, and she watched the Jeep as the pair of hunters drove off.

As she turned towards the library, a burst of pain shot through her right brow. Shiloh closed her eyes, but, when she focused on Dean, she found him unconscious; she redirected her attention to Sam as she bit her lip and found him locked in a closet, trying to talk the rugaru out of killing Dean. Shiloh shook herself; she couldn’t help the Winchesters, but she could help on this case in Lynchburg. Clenching her jaw, she took off up the steps and hurriedly made her way to the bathroom. Her brow pulsed, and she found a purple bruise around her eye, a small scrape at her brow that was beaded with blood. She pressed a paper towel to it.

Ducking out of the bathroom, Shiloh made her way back to the private computer cubicles at the back of the library and sat down in a secluded one away from others. The headache she'd woken up with was worse now. She considered going back to the motel, but, if she did, she wouldn't have anything on paper for Ellen and Jo if she found anything. That would be a bigger headache, so she buckled down to avoid it. Coupled with the specific details her gift provided, her research usually went quickly, and she hoped this time wouldn't be any different.

Settling herself, she pulled up the website for the local newspaper that had carried the stories of the deceased. Shiloh read through them quickly, nothing jumping out at her that would hint towards any similar attacks in the past. So, she fanned out her search on the web, pulling up newspapers for the nearby areas. Her back began to ache, but there was nothing to show for it. Leaning back, Shiloh massaged her temples. Using her ability without any direction would be a long shot, and it would take too much time; usually, that wouldn't bother her, since she normally had to wait for a hunter to near the job she was looking into. Visiting the crime scenes would be helpful, but she'd have to go behind Ellen and Jo's backs, and she wasn't prepared to do that just yet.

Shiloh read over everything again, slower this time. After another twenty minutes devoted to that, her eyes narrowed. She cleared the history and logged out, then went to the information desk. The young woman sitting there looked up at her with a helpful smile, which faltered at the sight of Shiloh’s right eye.

"Hi," Shiloh said by way of introduction. "I'm researching the history of the area, and I noticed that the archives on the website only go back to the early '90s." The woman nodded.

"We've only recently started digitizing the stacks, and putting them on the website is taking much longer than we expected. I can show you the stacks if you don't mind doing your research that way." Shiloh thanked her and let her lead the way.

The stacks were in the basement, and the lighting was dim at best. As the woman showed her the section on the founding and history of Lynchburg, Shiloh found a catalog of each section standing out in her mind; she’d only been working there for a few months while she was taking college courses, and she was still getting the hang of the system. She pointed to a table with a lamp in the center, and Shiloh thanked her again and pretended to appear interested in the section indicated as the young woman left. When she heard the door at the top of the stairs swing shut, Shiloh immediately moved down the aisles and found the section designated for crime reports. 

It took the better part of an hour, skimming carefully, before she found anything. The newspaper was from the 1920s, but detailed several murders that all bore a stark resemblance to rugaru attacks. Shiloh settled back into her chair and kneaded at the bruised skin of her brow. She doubted any luck in obtaining the original police reports, so she began leafing through other newspapers concurrent to and after the date of the last attack, hoping on the off chance that something would jump out at her. And it did.

“Paul Palmer in custody on suspicion of murder.” She murmured, reading the headline. The article described the witness statement leading police to the supposedly insane man, who had turned violent seemingly over night. He was found in an alleyway, covered in blood, and raving about starvation. Shiloh blinked and read on, “Inspector Pickens said the man had completely changed in appearance from the personable gentleman he’d been known as to a mottled, gray-skinned horror.” Shiloh’s eyes began to cross, and she squeezed them shut, pressing the bridge of her nose. 

It was a very slim lead concerning the current case, and, if Shiloh were inclined to such thinking, she would turn away in frustration. But the lead, no matter how slim to a rational mind, had given her a name, and a name had power for Shiloh. She settled back in the chair, the light of the lamp suddenly too bright. If she had the time and the seclusion, she’d return to the motel and perform the proper spell, but Shiloh didn’t know when the Harvelles would return. The spell gave her more control. but she could do without if necessary. Massaging her temples, she repeated Paul Palmer’s name in her mind, reaching out. At this point, the long shot was all she had.

Ten minutes later, Shiloh’s head lolled, and she managed to catch herself before her head slammed off the table. She lowered herself onto the floor, only subconsciously aware of doing so. Her mind was meandering slowly backwards, almost giddily at the calm pace; Shiloh had to pull herself, manhandling her mind into staying on course. Paul Palmer. Paul Palmer. Paul Palmer. His name rang like a mantra, and her pace quickened. Her neuropaths sped with her pulse, and the energy electrified her, sending spikes of sensation through her muscles. The lazy way, in which she’d started, ended erratically, her breath panicked and heartbeats pounding in her ears.

Paul Palmer stood in front of her; she recognized the normal man from the photograph in the paper. He was speaking, but no words resounded. She felt something wriggling in her arms, and she looked down to find an infant, eyes wide and innocent. She blinked, her shoulder blades flaring with pain as she spun and watched the child grow and another child and another. It was a chaotic jumble of information, and Shiloh fought to return to herself. 

-

“Shi still not answering?” Ellen asked, closing the Jeep door as she settled in the driver’s seat. Jo shook her head, checking her phone again. Ellen’s brow creased. Shi had only been with them for a little over a week, but she knew that she and Jo were growing fond of the hitchhiker. Shi had detailed to them how she’d managed to get around the east coast for the past year since dropping out of college. Ellen marveled that she hadn’t run into more trouble than she had, considering some humans could be just as bad as demons. She had yet to witness what she considered to be Shi’s psychic ability, but, then again, the young woman had had her whole life to learn how to not draw attention to herself. Any time the three of them had been around other people, Shi tended to disappear, as if she’d melted into the background, only to meet them back at the Jeep or whatever motel they were staying in. 

“Probably put her phone on silent.” Ellen shifted into drive and pulled out onto the highway. Jo nodded again.

“Seems to be the type, doesn’t she?” Jo agreed, pulling her notepad out to look at the notes she’d taken. “So, both victims were last seen at Packer’s Club, but there were no leads there that were obvious.” She shifted around to face Ellen, who nodded, keeping her eyes on the road.

“We’ll have to look at that list of staff the owner gave us. Compare the work schedule to the dates of the attacks, and see if we find any overlap.” Ellen considered it a straight forward case. The club was the only common denominator, so, if one of the staff had suddenly called off before bodies started dropping, that was a good place to start. Glancing over, she found Jo flipping through the file of papers the club owner had provided them. She felt that bittersweet swell of pride and protectiveness that she always experienced when she watched her daughter doing the job that took her husband, and doing it well at that. 

It didn’t take long to get to the library, and Ellen left Jo in the Jeep to go find their silent ‒ and, she knew, a dash of reluctant ‒ companion. A cursory exploration yielded no sign of Shi, so Ellen went to the information desk, clearing her throat as she neared to catch the attention of the young woman working behind it. 

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m supposed to pick up my niece. She’s about my height with brown hair to about here,” She indicated shoulder length. “She was wearing a black leather jacket.” The young woman nodded.

“Yes, the girl with the black eye. She spent a great deal of time in one of the back cubicles and then asked to see the archives downstairs. I’ll go let her know you’re here.” She talked in a rush and was walking away before Ellen could say a word. She frowned; she didn’t recall Shi with a black eye when they’d dropped her off at the library entrance that morning. Looking around, Ellen decided that the lighting was a little dim and, perhaps, the young librarian had mistaken a shadow for a black eye. She was convincing herself of the probability when the young woman returned.

“That’s strange. She must have left through the back, because I didn’t see her leave…” Ellen didn’t stay for the rest, muttering a ‘thank you’ before heading back out to the Jeep. She wrenched the driver’s side door open and jumped in, startling Jo.

“Where’s Shi?” Jo asked, jostling the papers in her lap. 

“No idea. She wasn’t inside. The librarian said she’d been down in the archives, so she must have a theory at least.” Ellen wrung her hands on the steering wheel before buckling herself in. Jo looked over at her.

“She’s just used to being alone, Mom.” She said it gently, but it didn’t make Ellen feel any better as she pulled back on the highway in the direction of their motel. As a mother, she still had a hard time letting Jo out of her sight at twenty-two; Shi was a year younger and had isolated herself within this life. Ellen was sure that the girl was forcing herself to remain with them, but the reason why escaped her. The reason for her voluntary isolation escaped Ellen also. Ellen knew that experience bred isolation; that was true enough, but Shi had only been on the job for a year and a half. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the young woman than being shaken by a vampire attack.

“How’s this for a theory.” Jo caught her attention, papers rustling. “Robin Palmer is one of the bartenders at Packer’s, and he’s been off since the day before the first attack.” 

“What did he call off for?” 

“Says here that he has the flu, even brought in a doctor’s excuse.” Ellen didn’t have to think twice to know that both her and her daughter didn’t buy that for a moment. Jo read off the lead’s address, and Ellen bit her lip, anxious with the timeframe syncing way too easily coupled with Shi’s earlier prediction.

-

Shiloh took the stairs two at a time, one hand gripping a manila folder bursting with paper. The other hand unclipped one of her shoulder holsters before retrieving one of her .45 pistols. Ellen and Jo had found their suspect quicker than she'd hoped and were currently holding him at gunpoint in his apartment. She entered the fourth floor and went directly to the third door on the right; the voices within were muffled to her ears, but rang clearly in her mind. Shiloh took a step back, then surged forward, planting a boot next to the door handle; she felt pressure in her temples, but the door crashed open, and Shiloh brandished her gun.

"He's innocent." She shouted over them, placing herself between their guns and the man they were aiming at. Shiloh aimed her gun at Jo's leg, just in case; she did not want to hurt either of them. She sensed more hesitation coming from Ellen, but Jo was determined.

"He's a monster, Shi." Jo growled out, slightly re-positioning her gun against her shoulder. Shiloh shook her head.

"Not yet, he isn't. He hasn't hurt anyone..." Shiloh was suddenly breathless, her temples pulsing with pain. Her vision blurred, and she pressed her eyes closed for a moment before squinting at the figures in front of her; the hand holding her gun shook.

"Put your gun away, Shi." Ellen said, her voice low, but Shiloh was relieved when Ellen lowered her gun onto a coffee table. She gestured to Jo, who reluctantly did the same, and Shiloh followed suit, placing hers back into its holster. Ellen pointed to the folder in her hand. "What did you find?"

Shiloh passed it to her, and she and Jo began leafing through it, but Shiloh turned, looking for a place to sit. Her head was on fire. She distinctly felt Jimmy Novak and knew that, wherever he was, Castiel was fighting, battling over one of the seals. A hand lit on her shoulder and guided her into what she assumed was a kitchenette, and she sat heavily on one of wooden chairs at the small table, pressing a thumb and forefinger into the inner corners of her eyes. She unconsciously dug her fingers into her thigh. Hearing a chair being pulled up close to her, Shiloh opened her eyes and found the innocent suspect sitting in front of her, holding up an icepack in invitation. Aware of how the black eye made her look, she took it and rested it gently against her right brow.

“I’m Robin, but I guess you already know that.” Shiloh nodded, her vision returning under the cool pressure. She took a moment to orient herself and look the man over. Robin looked the part of bedridden with the flu. The robe he wore looked as if it hadn’t been taken off and washed in a week, and the dark circles under his eyes told of restless nights. He scratched absentmindedly at the stubble on his chin, and Shiloh pursed her lips.

“You’re very calm for someone accused of being a monster.” She remarked. Robin looked up at her, and she was caught off guard by the sparkle in his eyes. He even chuckled.

“I am a monster though.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and crossing his arms. Shiloh instinctively leaned back in the chair.

“No, the hunger hasn’t hit you yet, and, even when it does, you have the choice to control it.” She held Robin’s gaze for several beats before he looked away, nervously tucking his hair back behind his ears. He knew everything about his family history, she knew. Robin knew every detail that Ellen and Jo were pouring over, from his great-great-grandfather’s murders to why many of the men in his family had committed suicide, even if he didn't understand it. And he wouldn't until he experienced it. His was a family that did not deny the curse it had.

Shiloh was acutely aware of the tingle of fear that ran down her spine, the nightmares from her childhood fresh in her mind. But before her sat a man distinctly human in every way except legacy and DNA. It was in the way Robin had been compassionate towards her and how he thought nothing negative towards the two hunters who'd shown up at his door with loaded guns. It was in the way he looked at her now through his eyelashes and how he nervously glanced over his shoulder at Ellen and Jo. Shiloh closed her eyes, letting the very human mind ease the tension from her shoulders, allaying the worry over Castiel and the Winchesters. It always amazed her at how human compassion had such a calming effect on her. The effect was particularly strong now with it coming from someone whose very blood told him that he was a monster, but it didn't take away his choice.

"Okay." Shiloh was startled out of her reverie as Ellen dropped the folder on the table. "First of all, what happened to your eye, girl?" She would've flinched at Ellen's tone if she hadn't had the lie ready on her tongue. Jo stood off to the side, arms crossed, glaring at Robin.

"I went to the bathroom at the library before I got started, and I had...a thing. I hit my head off the corner of the sink." Shiloh set the ice pack aside, her brow numb. She picked at her fingernails, hesitating before looking up at Ellen.

"What did you see?" Ellen's eyes were hard, but Shiloh knew she had to play the psychic runaway; all the half-truths made her feel manipulative, however, regardless of trying to protect herself.

"That we're running out of time. The thing I saw, this rugaru that's killing people...he's only just transformed." Shiloh knew that for certain. After waking up on the floor in the library basement, she'd put everything away after making copies of what she needed. Then, she'd gone to the courthouse and searched county records. The folder on the table had copies of the articles from the 20s, those of subsequent suicides by Palmer men, birth and death certificates, and a family tree of the Palmer family. Several of the generation before Robin had opted against having children, and he was the last of his line.

"Do you know if he's from here?" Ellen asked, and Shiloh shook her head. Exonerating Robin with physical evidence had taken up the majority of her time, though it seemed as if Jo still wanted to kill him, judging by the look on her face. "So, we're back at square one." Ellen leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

“And what about this guy?” Jo asked, pointing to Robin. Shiloh narrowed her eyes.

“What about him?” 

“He’s a rugaru, Shi. Regardless of how human he is right now. It could be him killing people next.” Jo’s voice rose, and Shiloh and Robin stood at the same time, the latter backing away. Shiloh felt the panic that emanated in his mind even as he struggled to force it away, and anger welled up in her. She leaned over, placing her hands on the table, and glared at Jo.

“So, we’re in the business of killing innocent people? Is that it?” She could feel the protest in Jo’s throat, so she raised her voice. “I don’t think so. Robin is human, right here, right now. He is aware of everything, _everything_ in that folder. He was raised knowing it, and he was brought up knowing that he’d have this choice to make. That’s what being human is, having choice, but humanity is about making the right one. He can choose to hold on to that humanity, or…” 

“Or I can put a bullet through my head.” The finality in Robin’s tone startled them, and Shiloh raised her eyes to find him staring intently at her. “So, how do we catch a monster we can’t find?”

-


	6. The Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiloh overcomes her childhood fears and considers the implications of her abilities.

_Only my soul stops me crying_   
_Wondering why I feel alone_   
_And only my love keeps me from weeping so bad_   
_Giving me strength to carry on_

Robin couldn’t believe his life, couldn’t fucking believe it. He reiterated it to himself over and over in the time it took him to shower and dress, nervously aware of the three women waiting in his living room. On a good day, he wouldn’t let one person in his apartment, and, now, he had three. One could be his mother, one wanted to kill him, and one had saved his skin. His fucking life. Fuck.

Rubbing his hand down the steam-covered front of the mirror, he stared at himself. It was true he'd grown up with the knowledge of being something other, something not quite human. It had been introduced as a bedtime fairy tale while he was wrapped in his mother's arms, rocking back and forth. Then, his father had committed suicide; Robin had been nine, and the memory never left him of the police coming to their home and his mother breaking down on the porch. Alone in the dark, she'd held him that night, their eyes red and dry. She'd told him of the curse then, and the fairy tale turned into a nightmare as they went to the closed casket funeral; and it had continued through the following months as they lost their home, as his mother's health deteriorated from grief, and, finally, her death when he was sixteen. It had been ten years since.

He'd been alone. He had trouble growing close to people he couldn't confide in, especially when most would scoff at the existence of anything they couldn't see. A family curse was nothing more than superstition. But it wasn't to him. He'd grown up believing it. He'd seen his father in the weeks leading up to his death. He'd seen the hunger on his face. It had been real to his nine-year-old self. And he'd ceased thinking himself human. So, he kept others at a distance with fake chauvinism towards life and a charming smile.

Putting a hand to his face, he breathed in deeply, trying to stifle the emotion in him. But that woman ‒ whose hands trembled and whose voice shuddered out ‒ had known. He’d never told a soul, yet this complete stranger had known, had told him to his face that he was human regardless. Her words had struck him like a baseball to the throat; they bruised him, and he choked them down, desperate to breathe again. The other two had known what he was, but only after he’d admitted it. Robin had been sure his life was over when two hunters showed up at his door, and then the third had kicked down the door of his apartment and, by association, his life, preaching innocence and humanity. Oh, the humanity. 

Voices floated in from the living room, and Robin stilled, nervously fidgeting with the belt of his robe with one hand and brushing the other over the shadows of a beard. He tried to steady his breathing, then heard footsteps. He wheeled around and opened the door as calmly as he could, finding the blonde a couple feet from the door. Robin tried to fix a cocky grin onto his face, but he knew he failed miserably. She didn’t say anything; she simply glared and turned on her heel, and he followed her back to the living room. 

Robin leaned against the wall of the hallway entrance and crossed his arms. The eldest of the three women was sitting on his coffee table, and, if he didn't think she could kick his ass in a heartbeat, he might have said something about that. His savior sat in front of her on the edge of the couch, and the older woman had her fingertips prodding at the younger one's right eye. She didn't flinch, her eyes staring at something off in the distance ‒ a distance that didn’t exist in his apartment, he was sure. 

“It seems superficial, nothing broken. That’s good news.” He heard the eldest say. She stood and walked over to the blonde, and they both retrieved their guns. Robin stood straighter and rubbed his hands together, but the weapons were merely tucked into their holsters. He should probably learn their names; he was going to feel ridiculous continuously referring to them as eldest, blonde, and savior. 

“Ellen and Jo.” Robin jumped, looking down at the woman sitting on his couch. “And I’m Shi.” Her eyes were still far away, and her hands gripped the fronts of her knees, her knuckles beginning to turn white. Robin was speechless, eyes narrowing. 

“You psychic or something?” It was a rhetorical question, but he watched as her eyes focused and turned on him.

“Something like that.” Robin was startled; earlier in the kitchen, he'd been able to convince himself that, without the lights on combined with the stress of the situation, her eyes were just glassy-looking. But the cloudy irises were just that, though he'd swear later on that he could see a hint of green in those depths. He stared at her.

“You serious?” But he didn’t receive an answer before Ellen and Jo beckoned to them, and Shi glanced at him as he stood. Her face was drawn, her brow knitted apologetically, and Robin had the distinct feeling that she wanted nothing more than to let him return to the life of feigned normalcy he’d been living. But the surety of his nine-year-old self took his hand and led him out the door behind her.

-

Shiloh followed Ellen into the motel room, only a little unsure of leaving Robin in the Jeep with Jo; neither of the experienced hunters wanted to leave him by himself, and Shiloh agreed, for the most part. She was only thankful that they’d stayed their bullets long enough to let her get between them. As they entered the room, Shiloh shuffled her feet, her hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching. When she noticed, she rubbed them together before kneeling at her duffel. Ellen was watching her in her periphery, Shiloh knew, so she pushed away the feeling of wrongness that edged at her mind. But her subconscious chased it; it wasn’t celestial or demonic. It was something she could handle.

“Shi,” Ellen said, and Shiloh looked up, her movement jerky, and found Ellen standing in front of her, their bags setting at her feet. Shiloh blinked, then wiped her brow. A sheen of sweat had covered her, and she let out a breath. “You okay?” The concern in Ellen’s voice was guarded, as if it would spook her. Shiloh let out a shaky laugh. 

“No.” She said honestly, running both hands through her hair. The wrongness at the edge of her mind was their errant rugaru, and she wondered how she hadn’t picked up on him in the first place. Shiloh closed her eyes, controlled her breathing. She’d never let her guard down like this before; she could pick up a threat almost immediately after stepping into a citywide radius. Looking up at Ellen, her instinct shouted accusations, but Shiloh didn’t relent; those instincts were ones forged from being alone. Her lungs found a rhythm, and she stood. “Okay… I’m okay.” Her voice shook only a little. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ellen asked. Shiloh stared at her, a little taken aback, but not overtly surprised. She sighed and picked up her duffel. She couldn’t look Ellen in the eyes.

“It’s hunting. I caught it… only a bit. I don’t like how it feels.” She found herself rubbing her stomach, having felt much more than wrong. If she focused, she’d see what it saw, feel what it felt. Fear wasn’t a stranger to her, but the fright she felt now, standing in that motel room with a rugaru on the loose, made her feel like she was four years old all over again. 

“You want to sit this one out?” Shiloh shook her head slowly, seeing the fear written on her face through Ellen’s eyes. She bit it down, raising her gaze. 

“I’ve never been this close, Ellen. It’s having effects is all. You’re the one calling the shots, and I trust you not to blatantly put any of us in harm’s way. I may be afraid, but I’m not going to take a time out.” Shiloh said the words, as she’d said all the others to the Harvelles. But this time she felt them; this time, she had to dig down for the courage. Ellen stared at her for what felt like a long time before nodding. 

“You feel anything, you call Jo. And if you feel like you’re gonna freeze up, take yourself out. Don’t try to handle more than you can.” Ellen lectured, and Shiloh nodded mutedly. As she followed Ellen out to the Jeep, she couldn’t help but think that her entire life should be more than she could handle, and it would be her luck for a lone rugaru to send her over the edge.

-

“So, what’s the plan again?” Robin asked for the seventh or eighth time. It was late evening, so the Harvelles had dropped them off a few blocks from the club so their approach would be casual. Shiloh rolled her eyes, though she empathized with him; they had destroyed the safety walls of his life despite the knowledge he carried with him. He’d built up walls to keep people out, charmed them with a smile and easy laughter so no questions were asked. Robin’s thoughts while she, Ellen, and Jo had waited for him at his apartment had distracted her from what should have completely been a stratagem conversation. Instead, it had turned into an interrogative concern, and she’d realized that her actions and reactions, her quirks and nervous habits did not go unnoticed by the two experienced hunters she traveled with, which was only further confirmed when they’d stopped at the motel.

“You and I are going to Packer’s to keep an eye on the area. Ellen and Jo are going back to the police station to see if they can’t find anything that might help.”

“Like what?” Shiloh glanced over at him as they walked. Part of her was very much amused at a robe being worn as casual attire.

“I don’t know. When your great-great-grandfather got arrested, there were reports in the weeks before of him being violent. So, I’d guess anything along those lines. Hopefully, someone reported such activity.” Her hands were tucked into her pockets, and the guns in their holsters dug almost painfully into her ribs. Not for the first time, Shiloh admitted to herself that this entire experience was strange to her: the traveling with other hunters, concealing her full abilities, and, now, answering questions from someone new to the idea of a hunter’s life. The muted and familiar bitterness of her promises came back to her, and she swallowed them down. 

"After you." Robin said as he held the door to the club open to her. She entered, coming face to face with a burly man she knew was the bouncer. Robin laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "She's with me, Ed." The man's face lit up at the sight of him.

"Robin! I heard you were laid up with the flu!" Ed said loudly, wrapping Robin in a bear hug and bouncing his fists off the slimmer man's back. Shiloh watched in guarded amusement; the camaraderie that Robin shared with his coworkers reminded her of Thomas and his high school friends. When he caught his breath, Robin steered her towards the bar, where he waved at one of the bartenders.

"Robin! Man, you look like death warmed over." The bartender clapped a hand on Robin's shoulder, and Robin laughed, straightening his robe as he sat down on one of the bar-stools.

"But still damned sexy." Robin said, winking at Shiloh as she took a seat next to him. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Robin had been running scenarios through his mind on their short walk to the place just in case his coworkers asked sticky questions; he'd settled on the childhood friends who hadn't seen each other for years trope, and Shiloh decided to go along with it. It seemed more probable than a blind date or long lost cousins. The bartender, whose name was Glen, turned to her.

"And who's this sweet looking thing?" Shiloh cringed inwardly, but smirked at him.

"Off limits." Robin interjected, his eyes narrowing, and Shiloh was confused at the protective flare that swelled in him. She understood that he was awed by her insistence at his humanity, but she wasn't sure if that justified his reaction in this situation. The bartender flicked his eyes at Robin and seemed to back off. "Glen, this is Shi, an old friend of mine. Forewarning, she’s all bite and no bark.” There was an ominous undertone to his voice that made Glen stare back and forth between them, eyes wide. Shiloh held his gaze, her smirk still in place, and she felt a shiver go through Glen’s mind. She almost laughed out loud.

“Damn, Rob, you get all the fun ones, don’t you? How is that fair?” Robin laughed as Glen was waved away by another customer. Then, he turned to her and shrugged apologetically. 

“Sorry about that. Glen is attracted to, yet very intimidated by, tough women. I wasn’t sure you would catch on.” 

“Call it a hunch.” Shiloh glanced around, observing everyone in the club with a passing thought. They all seemed normal, though it would be helpful if at least one of them had a sign on their forehead proclaiming him or her to be a potential meal on the two feet. It would make things much easier. 

“Yeah, about that…” Robin left it hanging, but the curiosity was there. Shiloh shifted uncomfortably on the bar-stool and began picking at her fingernails.

“It’s hard to explain. I just get…flashes of things usually, like events or thoughts. Sometimes it’s stuff that hasn’t happened yet.” She pulled a hang nail from her fingertip, and blood beaded up. “It’s unreliable most of the time.” Robin retrieved a small napkin from behind the counter and handed it to her; she pressed it against her finger without thought. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked, and Shiloh nodded. “When these flashes occur, do you try to stop them or do you let them happen?” Shiloh glanced up at him, knowing she’d have to tread lightly. Ellen and Jo hadn’t asked specifics, which had been convenient for her. Robin was a different matter, it would seem. 

“I just want it over with, but it happens regardless. Nothing I see or feel is ever pleasant.”

“You haven’t embraced this, have you?” His face was drawn quizzically, and Shiloh held her breath, watching as Robin retrieved another napkin and began folding it as he spoke. “Whatever this psychic thing is, it’s a part of you. Fighting it every step of the way is only going to make it worse. If you accept and embrace it, you could use it to your advantage, especially in this specific line of work.”

Shiloh paused in her thoughts, watching as his nimble fingers turned the coaster napkin into a paper crane, which he pushed towards her over the counter. She bit her lip, Robin’s words catching a ride from her ear canals to the deeper thought processes in the brain. For the shy, vulnerable character she’d created for this hunt, the advice was sound and logical, but, for the real Shiloh, it delved deep. It found the young, frightened child who cowered from the voices in her head. It held the hand of the apathetic, blank slate that she’d been after Thomas had graduated high school. It held the disillusioned and reckless adolescent. It nurtured and nourished, bolstered and built, digging under the celestial influence and omniscient frailty. Shiloh let out her breath slowly.

“You alright?” Robin was watching her; he was afraid that he’d said something wrong. Shiloh nodded, suspecting that she felt the same way he had earlier, and the feeling that arose and stiffened her spine was a novelty. She stood and shifted from one foot to another, and he mirrored her movements, confusion plain on his face. Gesturing for him to follow her, she headed towards the back exit. 

Standing in the alleyway behind the club, Shiloh looked around. If the suspicion in the back of her mind proved correct, then her control over her abilities should prove capable; however, Robin had picked up on her fear of herself, of her own aptitude after a lifetime of pondering the ever-present question: _why me?_ She’d always had trouble moving past that question, of wondering why she couldn’t have lived a normal childhood, a normal life. Now, in her young adulthood, Shiloh had resigned herself to this gift, had begrudgingly accepted it as a part of her life; Hell had left a weight that knowledge of humanity in its entirety never would. 

“Shi…” 

“I’m tired of running.” She breathed out, turning to Robin, who was cautiously standing a few feet away from her. Hell victimized in a way that personified human victimization: it tears you open again and again and again until the laughter starts, and then you realize that it’s you holding the knife. “Both victims had this club in common, yet their remains were found miles apart.” 

“Yeah. So?” 

“It’s stalking them. This isn’t just about the hunger anymore. The fun is in the hunt.” Shiloh dug into her pocket and brought out her cell phone. She held it out to Robin, who took in gingerly. “I’m going to try something, and if anything goes wrong, or hell, just call anyway…but call Jo. I’m not sure if this will work, but I’m gonna sure as hell try.” 

“Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” Robin protested, spinning her back around to face him. She just smiled.

“Going fishing.” She lowered herself to her knees and sat back on her heels. In reality, Shiloh meant to duplicate the effects of the mind immersions she‘d had as a child; her psychic attempt that morning had been lackadaisical and misguided, but her confidence pounded in her temples. She’d never forced a mind immersion on herself before, having always caught them out of left field. Shiloh hadn’t enjoyed waking up disoriented, sometimes in a different place altogether. 

But she pushed her mind out, breathing in a slow rhythm and closing her eyes. Seizing on the mental thread she’d found earlier, Shiloh carried herself along. It was starving, as was its nature, but underneath that was the lust; it watched and waited. Shiloh settled, separating herself from the beast; her awareness overlapped slowly with his until she could feel his muscles bunching with tension, until his heartbeat became her own, and until she could feel the tremble of adrenaline racing down their spine. She opened her eyes. 

She almost lost the connection at the sight of the double image, and her mind reeled for a moment. Shiloh clamped back down, forcing her breaths back into that slow rhythm she’d started with; she wasn’t aware of the blood running from her nose or how Robin had her phone to his ear. She wasn’t aware of her lips moving, whispering everything she was experiencing. Something caught the rugaru’s sense of smell, and it began to move, half of the double image moving in Shiloh’s eyes. It was perfume. Lilac. 

“No…” She whispered. The rugaru paused, and the woman passed by without ever knowing just how close she’d been to death. Shiloh paused, turned her head, sniffing the air; something had stopped her hunt. She could feel it creeping along in her cranium, trying to hide its presence. The intruder must be found, must be hunted, must be consumed for this interruption.

“Shi!” Her awareness jerked back to herself, Robin’s voice clear and resonant. She doubled over, dry heaving against the secondhand hunger. An arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her up. Robin was speaking to her, “It’s okay. Ellen and Jo are on their way…” Shiloh struggled in his arms, trying to push him away. “Wait, wait, what’s…”

“It’s coming for me! I have to get the connection back!” But he wouldn’t let her go, so Shiloh let her forehead rest against his collarbone, reaching out. The beast was coming quickly, and she was having difficulty locking onto it, like a target at a gun range. Something clicked in her mind, and she caught hold. _Are you a rugaru? Are you a rugaru?_ The double-image reappeared, overlapping its sight with hers, and, startled, she slammed her eyes shut as she saw herself and Robin kneeling on the ground. 

_Stop!_

“Stop!” The word echoed from her vocal chords as it resounded from her mind. The rugaru stopped in its tracks, and Shiloh could feel her awareness settling over it again as she’d done before. The fit was tighter this time, the sinews smooth as water. Shiloh kept her eyes shut, but she could feel Robin shifting next to her; she held one of his wrists in her hand and steered him behind her as she shakily climbed to her feet. 

Opening her eyes, Shiloh was greeted by the figure of a sallow-skinned man, the bones of his torso sticking out at odd angles, which made him look malnourished. Her double sight bled the images of him and herself together, and she had to close her eyes against the disturbing possibility, a future always in motion. Shiloh took an uncertain step towards the man, a man turned beast, but a man nonetheless. She could feel the struggle in him as he tried to move and attack her, but she held him, one arm outstretched, palm outward. 

“Let go. Let me go. Get out.” His voice was guttural from disuse, and he’d regressed into simple sentences as his humanity had faded. Tears welled up under Shiloh’s eyelids, and, now, the blood fell from her nose only in small drops. 

“You have to stop killing.” She told him. Recalling the pictures of the victims from their obituaries, Shiloh projected them into his mind, hoping to find some shred of humanity left in him. Anything to paralyze him until the cavalry arrived. Tears spilled out from beneath her eyelids, and she found the recollection of a beautiful woman with dark skin and darker eyes, radiant in the sun as they’d held hands in a park. He fell to his knees, a low keening emitting from his throat. 

“I can’t. I can’t. Please.” He looked up at her, and Shiloh opened her eyes to meet his gaze, a depth that spoke of lost and unfound compassion. “Help me.” She took several steps towards him, dropping to her knees an arm’s length away. 

“It’s okay. Help is coming.” Shiloh raised a hand and brushed her knuckles against a mottled cheek. “Everything’s going to be alright…” At the periphery of her mind, she could feel the hunters approaching, death in their hands. “It’s okay…” Flame-throwers were ignited. And a thought rang clear.

_Her name is Clara. Clara Turman. She was my everything._

-

Waking up in unfamiliar places should no longer surprise Shiloh, but there’s always a brief moment when she expects to wake up in the room she grew up in. To be surrounded by her childhood drawings and her collection of angel figurines would be a welcome sight. It would signify that she could change her path; she could choose to have allies from the beginning other than a lone angel who hid her existence from all of Heaven. Shiloh bit her lip, trying to will herself back into unconsciousness. She felt a desire to pray to Castiel, but shrunk from the compulsion; he was working and fighting alongside his siblings, which warranted her silence until he chose otherwise. Shiloh had isolated herself terribly with her promises and half-truths. She heard footsteps and, remorsefully, opened her eyes. 

“You might want to take it easy for a few days.” Robin sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch she laid on. Swinging her legs over and sitting up, she understood what he meant. A wave of white pain crashed through her head. “Yeah, that’s what I…nevermind . Here.” He returned her phone to her, and she pocketed it. She glanced up at him and didn’t like the way he looked at her, so she retreated, cradling her head in her hands.

“Ellen and Jo…”

“Went to tie up some loose ends. You passed out before they lit the bastard up.” Shiloh nodded, vaguely remembering having done so; the rugaru’s last thought still rang painfully in her memory. Standing, she walked to the window, peering up at the night. It was clear and the stars were visible, just like the nights that she would sneak out to go to the lake. A pensive calm settled over her. “Can we talk about something?” 

“You want to know what I did back there.” He didn’t speak, but she could feel the affirmative of his mind. Shiloh didn’t need to look at him to know that she frightened him, just like she didn’t need to look in a mirror to know she frightened herself. She’d found the confidence to end their hunt of the rugaru, but it was in a way that had left her questioning her right to such actions. In a nutshell, she’d taken over the rugaru’s mind; hell, she’d almost lost herself in it. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering the man behind her. Robin had witnessed what he’d become if the hunger ever took hold. “We’re frightened of ourselves, you and I. More than we are of each other.”

“So, talk to me. What aren’t you saying?” Shiloh realized then why Ellen and Jo had never asked questions. There was a certain level of secrecy in a hunter’s life; the only thing that mattered was whether or not the person at your side had your back when it counted. Robin wasn’t a hunter, not yet, and Shiloh hoped, though it burned dimly, that he wouldn’t choose that road. There was a resilience in him that reminded her of every hunter she’d ever come across. He stood. “Look. I know I’m not human, not physiologically anyway, or whatever. I was resigned to this life with that… that thing as my future. You gave me back my humanity. Before you came along, I could’ve cared less about those murders. But you… even when he would’ve killed you given the chance, you were compassionate. You cared about a monster. How do you do that?” 

“Because he wasn’t always a monster. He was just like everyone else. Unaware. Human. He was even in love.” Shiloh answered, her voice light. She turned, subconsciously picking at her fingernails again. “Clara Turman. He fled from his home, fled until the hunger was too much. All to protect her. Even when something unexplainable was happening to him, his first instinct was to protect what he loved. And that is so human…” Her voice cracked, stomach knotting, and her hands clenched. 

“Shi…” She looked up, tears once again in her eyes. Robin was standing in front of her, a hand resting on her upper arm. For a moment, all she could think of was the burn mark hidden beneath her clothes. Then, his hands were cupping her face. “See? That. How do you do that?” And he leaned in, and she met his lips. The kiss was brief, unhindered by expectation, and Robin enfolded her in his arms and held her. 

-

“I’d come with you.” Robin leaned against the doorframe, trying to will her back into his apartment. He wasn’t sure why she was leaving, or why she wasn’t willing to wait for Ellen and Jo. He wasn’t sure about anything to do with her, to be honest. The one thing that he was sure of was that he wanted to be leaving with her. Shi smiled.

“I know. I’m sorry I have to give you a rain check.” There was a hint of laughter at the end, and he grinned back.

“I’ll collect on that.” 

“Of course you will. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stepped up to him and kissed his cheek, then she was gone.

-

“Shi left. She said she was going home. She didn’t elaborate.” Robin said by way of explanation when Ellen and Jo came through his door. He looked around his apartment again, then down at the duffel and backpack he’d thrown together. Jo yelled expletives and stomped back out the door. But Ellen was watching him, and he held her gaze. 

“You sure about this, boy?” 

“After today, how can I do anything else?” 

-

Robin looked up at the two-story, brick house in front of him. He smoothed his hand down over the suit jacket and tried to calm his nerves. Ellen had silenced Jo’s objections to this idea when he’d brought it up. In a way, Ellen knew why he wanted to be here, but it didn’t help him swallow down his anxiety. He walked up the steps and, after what seemed like an eternity, found himself in front of the door. His knock was followed by footsteps. The door opened. 

“Can I help you?” Dark brown eyes stared out at him, and he could see how easy it would’ve been to fall in love with her. 

“Are you Clara Turman?” 

“Yes.” Her brows creased in confusion, and a lump found its way into Robin’s throat.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news…” 

-

Shiloh stared up at her home, that mansion that loomed over her upbringing. Her father was home, though not alone; her mother and sister had gone on a retreat with one of the local youth ministries, it seemed. Suzie was the only child to have come back home, now clinging to her mother’s heels. She stowed her guns away in her duffel as she waited, not wishing to interrupt whoever her father was entertaining. She was unsure of why she’d come back; there was nothing here that she needed, nothing that she was aware of. Hearing the front door open, she began walking. 

“Shiloh?” She stopped and looked up. Her father had changed very little since the last time Shiloh had seen him, which was when she’d dropped out of college. The man beside him was older with white hair. Her father addressed him. “This is my youngest daughter, Shiloh. Shiloh, this is Father Simon, an old friend of my father’s.” Shiloh shook the hand proffered to her, though his smile unnerved her. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Not at all. I was just leaving. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of a father’s time with his daughter.” Father Simon shook her father’s hand. “Good night, Noah.” Then, he walked down the path and disappeared around the corner. Shiloh turned to find her father staring at her, though there was nothing negative in his gaze. His thoughts were always guarded around her, which had made her wonder from time to time if he knew anything about her gift. 

“Are you in trouble?” He was hesitant to ask, but she smiled. 

“Nothing like that. I just found myself in the area and thought to look in. Maybe spend a night or two, if that’s okay…” The request was open-ended. Her father stepped down a few steps, putting them on even ground. 

“Your mother and Suzie are off on a retreat til the end of the week. Stay as long as you want.” He held his arm open to her, and she stepped into it, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Your room is still the way you left it.” Shiloh held an attachment to her father that she would never be able to explain. As absent as he’d been as she’d grown up, there were still small, brief moments that she held on to. Like the way he rested his arm around her and gently squeezed her shoulder as if reassuring her of something. 

“I’m only going to ask this once, Dad, okay?” He nodded, confused. “You don’t know what goes on in my world, do you?” They shared sad smiles. 

“No, honey, I don’t.” They walked inside together.

-


End file.
